’ She saw the weapon wrenched from Emile’s hand and he dropped to the bench of the pew and sat there, grasping helplessly at the welling blood on his arm. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. Lucy grabbed its handle, her broken bones mending inside her causing her to wince in pain. She wondered occasionally why his mind needed so much distraction. 156 He followed, “Um, is it okay if we talk in private for a few minutes somewhere?” Cathy was quick to reply. ‘No, you don’t.
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