sponsible; undoubtedly, too, he must be accusing her father; but Marjorie dwelt upon her own guilt. "It is just what I always told you," she could imagine him saying, "you can't live with concealed sin." And she had said she could live with sin better than with scandal and so she had killed him.
And you could not cry over a result like that; to be able to cry, to convulse yourself in sobs and wet your face with tears, that would be a too easy, too merciful relief. No; here you were; before you, on the bed, was the record of what you had done; you had killed Billy. And, at how many turning points, when he had first ordered you and then pleaded with you and begged you to go one way, you had always gone the other leading to—"Lawyer Slain at Roadhouse"—Billy.
Here was the night you had come to Mrs. Russell's and your father's flat, and you had made Billy give you the name of the lawyer whom Gregg suggested, Rinderfeld. There, at the very first, Billy protested but you went ahead. You went, against Billy's pleading with you, to visit Rinderfeld, and you took Rinderfeld's advice against Billy. Then there was the afternoon on which Mr. Stanway called and you lied to him and, when Billy came, you told Billy of your lie and defended it, and he cried out that he could bear no longer your degrading yourself and he would tell the whole truth and have it out. You—you seized Billy's big, strong body and you shook him and told him he should not, he should not; and you used yourself up so that he got frightened about you and gave you your way again and let you go upon it,—on your way which led to this at the end—Billy Slain at Roadhouse.
"Better get dressed," Clara was saying to her; Clara, now dressed herself, had brought Marjorie's clothes,
