Everything in the office, the spreading circle of lamplight, the patch of leather in Lolotte's hands. George poised with the tack hammer, the homely, everyday atmosphere, all denied an attempt at murder. A rush of panic caught Sarah. ``No. Not now. I mean I've got to -- to see to the kitchen. Glendora'' --

Her words jumbled together and she all but ran from the office and from the question in Rev's face.

Now why did I do that? she thought as warm, drizzling rain touched her face. She was no schoolgirl, refusing to bear tales.

As she reached the kitchen door the answer presented itself; if she told anyone of the opium it must be Lucien, her husband.

It might be, indeed it had already proved to be a marriage without love, but it was marriage. So she couldn't choose Rev as a confidant; it must be Lucien.

Always provided that Lucien himself had not dosed her coffee with opium, she thought, as coldly and sharply, again, as Maude might have said it.

She paused at the kitchen door, caught her breath, told herself firmly that the opium was only an attempt to frighten her and went into the kitchen, where Glendora was eyeing the chickens dismally and Maude was cleaning lamp chimneys. Glendora gave a gulp. ``Miss Sarah, I cann't cut up no chicken. Miss Maude say she wonn't.''

Again the homely, everyday details of daily living refuted a vicious attempt to frighten her -- or to murder her.