God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. I will lay them all at your feet. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. “You’re just a boy! You grow moody and spellbound, John, and the next moment you are ecstatic. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. “Oh no, you’re breaking up with me, aren’t you?” “No Julian.
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