She had killed the McCloskeys after they had witnessed her making a kill. "One of us has got to die," he panted. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. We think the whole thing is straight and noble at bottom, and it isn’t. The man was dangerous. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy.
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