6It’s hard to describe the breaking up of a general paralysis of the sort, especially when most of my own mind was still in the grip of it. Cynic and time-server as he might be, Milton Minor wasn’t a liar. He wouldn’t have said he saw Susan Kent pick up the gun, and aim it, unless he’d seen her do it. Standing at the bar there, he could have seen her very simply. The convincing evidence to me, however, was the shock that had obliterated all previous effects of the shaker of Manhattans. And he wasn’t drinking now. He reached down and put his highball farther under the sofa where nobody would kick it over. Then he sat quietly watching. When I started to get up he took hold of my skirt and drew me back.
“Let’s keep out of this, Grace. You couldn’t do anything.”
I guess he was right. Dorothy
