The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. She felt she was bound in honor to tell the whole affair to Manning sooner or later. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically. She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. "Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. After that night she made it a habit. When he was done she kissed his cheek tenderly. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. ” “I had to,” she repeated.
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