The larger problem at hand was drugging her foster sister, Shari, into a deep sleep. “I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. But, in spite of his outcries and resistance, he was dragged along by Jonathan and his janizaries. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair.
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