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Big
Bill
was
n't
crying
,
but
he
was
close
.
"
There
's
only
one
chance
,
"
Mrs.
Carmody
said
.
"
What
's
that
,
ma'am
?
"
Mike
Haden
asked
politely
.
"
A
sacrifice
,
"
Mrs.
Carmody
said-she
seemed
to
grin
in
the
gloom
.
"
A
blood
sacrifice
.
"
Blood
sacrifice
-
the
words
hung
there
,
slowly
turning
.
Even
now
,
when
I
know
better
,
I
tell
myself
that
then
what
she
meant
was
someone
's
pet
dog
-
there
were
a
couple
of
them
trotting
around
the
market
in
spite
of
the
regulations
against
them
.
Even
now
I
tell
myself
that
.
She
looked
like
some
crazed
remnant
of
New
England
Puritanism
in
the
gloom
...
but
I
suspect
that
something
deeper
and
darker
than
mere
Puritanism
motivated
her
.
Puritanism
had
its
own
dark
grandfather
,
old
Adam
with
bloody
hands
.
She
opened
her
mouth
to
say
something
more
,
and
a
small
,
neat
man
in
red
pants
and
a
natty
sport
shirt
struck
her
openhanded
across
the
face
.
His
hair
was
parted
with
ruler
evenness
on
the
left
.
He
wore
glasses
.
He
also
wore
the
unmistakable
look
of
the
summer
tourist
.
"
You
shut
up
that
bad
talk
,
"
he
said
softly
and
tonelessly
.
Mrs.
Carmody
put
her
hand
to
her
mouth
and
then
held
it
out
to
us
,
a
wordless
accusation
.
There
was
blood
on
the
palm
.
But
her
black
eyes
seemed
to
dance
with
mad
glee
.
"
You
had
it
coming
!
"
a
woman
cried
out
.
"
I
would
have
done
it
myself
!
"
"
They
'll
get
hold
of
you
,
"
Mrs.
Carmody
said
,
showing
us
her
bloody
palm
.
The
trickle
of
blood
was
now
running
down
one
of
the
wrinkles
from
her
mouth
to
her
chin
like
a
droplet
of
rain
down
a
gutter
.
"
Not
today
,
maybe
.
Tonight
.
Tonight
when
the
dark
comes
.
