The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. "It is useless to deny it," replied Jack. Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head.
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