The future? He dared not speculate upon that. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. A maidservant held the front door open. Cahill gave me a hall pass. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone.
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