She had never expected John capable of saying such things, of thinking such macabre ideas. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. She won’t be a problem from now on. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. "Fox-terriers of the sea; friends with every ship that comes along. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin.
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