They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. She thought of an old abandoned barn that she could inhabit further downriver, but shrugged off the idea in disdain. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. But whither The Tigress was bound or who the owner was lay beyond the reach of Ah Cum's deductions. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture.
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