When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. The other bona roba, known amongst her companions as Mistress Poll Maggot, was a beauty on a much larger scale,—in fact, a perfect Amazon.
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