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Sylvia
Pittston
reached
down
and
grasped
his
head
.
The
man
’
s
cry
ceased
as
her
fingers
,
strong
and
white
,
unblemished
and
gentle
,
worked
through
his
hair
.
He
looked
up
at
her
dumbly
.
"
Who
was
with
you
in
sin
?
"
She
asked
.
Her
eyes
looked
into
his
,
deep
enough
,
gentle
enough
,
cold
enough
to
drown
in
.
"
The
.
.
.
the
Interloper
.
"
"
Called
who
?
"
"
Called
Satan
.
"
Raw
,
oozing
whisper
.
"
Will
you
renounce
?
"
Eagerly
:
"
Yes
!
Yes
!
Oh
,
my
Jesus
Savior
!
"
She
rocked
his
head
;
he
stared
at
her
with
the
blank
,
shiny
eyes
of
the
zealot
.
"
If
he
walked
through
that
door
-
"
she
hammered
a
finger
at
the
vestibule
shadows
where
the
gunslinger
stood
-
"
would
you
renounce
him
to
his
face
?
"
"
On
my
mother
’
s
name
!
"
