"Right!—right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his breast. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. He was a business man, pure and simple, his eyes were fastened always upon the practical side of life. She aimed directly at Rhea’s head. She answered him almost coldly. Sheppard, in a voice of agony. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. Immeasurable disgust possessed her. Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. "I am very wicked," she said. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively. ‘Not kill me, I mean.
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