28It had been like an atomic bomb dropped in our laps when Dorothy said Bill had been arrested for the murder of Enoch B. Stubblefield. Theodore’s simple statement should have been terribly worse. But it wasn’t. It was like a simple unchangeable fact that we held in our hands.
Theodore was still seeing only Dorothy. She had relaxed her grip on the chair, her eyes on him, great moving eyes, liquid with compassion.
“This is the gun I did it with.” He took a revolver out of his pocket and laid it on the arm of the chair. “I’ve called the police. I called from downstairs as I came in. I wanted to tell you first, Dorothy. I’m glad I killed Stubblefield. I’m very sorry about the others. I didn’t want to kill Betty, because she was a sweet girl, in her way. I didn’t love her, Dorothy. I’ve neve
