‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. It was a dull, foggy day, and the atmosphere was so thick and heavy, that, at eight o'clock, the curious who arrived near the prison could scarcely discern the tower of St. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. It had been a trying day. “So, since when does a grown man have to sneak behind the Laundromat to smoke a cigarette?” She asked 115 him. But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow.
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