“Miss Jane said. “What is it?” Henry mumbled. He’d been dreaming of an all-nude girlie revue he’d seen some years ago in Columbia, South Carolina. In his dream Miss Jane was prancing about the stage with her schoolteacher’s pointer, directing the girls in a sprightly dance. She was attired in a scholarly mortarboard and nothing else, and Henry was unhappy to be wakened from this interesting vision. “Quick as ever you moved in your life, Mr. Satterfield,” Miss Jane called up through the hole in h...er bedroom ceiling, “meet me in the kitchen.” Henry’s first thought was that housebreakers might have gained entry. Still half asleep, he hurried into his white trousers and came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he grabbed the poker hanging on the back of the Glenwood. He was greeted by no housebreakers, but he could hear the rise and fall of racing engines, which seemed to be coming from the east, on the extension of the old pike road. Then, very distinctly, two gunshots.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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