Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. “They mould one insensibly. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. ” “I can’t imagine what makes you fly out against everything like this,” said Miss Stanley to her niece. ’ ‘Do you care to test that theory?’ Gerald suggested easily. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance.
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