Lasca, he implored her, what have I done?
Her tone was ice. You haven't done anything. You bore me. Get out of here before I have you thrown out.
She struck him in the face. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he stepped backwards. Rage swelled the veins of his temples.
Damn you! he cried. Damn you!
Before he could make a single aggressive movement she had covered him with a revolver.
None of that, she said.
He hesitated.
So, she taunted him, you don't love me enough to want me to kill you! You're a coward as well as a bore, a filthy Nigger coward!
He slunk towards the outer door.
Get out! she went on. Get out and stay out! Marie, tell the boys downstairs never to allow this slimy garbage in the building again.
As the door slammed behind him, he almost collapsed. He was dazed. This was all so unexpected. Last night she had loved him as usual. Now . . . He did not know what had happened or why. He crept slowly down the stairs and out into the sunshine.
Through a blur he saw a limousine drawn up by the kerb before him. He vaguely recalled that it had been there when he entered the building. Approaching the car, he stooped to decipher the initials painted on the door. R. P., he read. R. P.?
