We did not have one of our own. Perhaps she wanted to have someone in the Philps's house in case anything happened to Sarah. So every afternoon from four to five I would bang away at my scales and the silly pieces set for me by my teacher Miss Croop. I still remember the cheerless living-room with its bare linoleum and the photograph of Norman. The piano echoed in the empty room. I wotild usually leave just before Alfred returned and would put my head round the bedroom door to say goodbye to Sarah. Usually she was in a semi-coma. When she wasn't, she would bellow, 'Make sure you shut the door properly behind you.' I always felt relieved when I had left that house.
On that last occasion, I was about to go in when I saw that the door was ajar. Through the opening I could see Sarah sitting on the side of the bed. She was half-naked and her great flabby body shook with her sobs. I can't stand it any more,' she moaned. 'You're useless, Alfred. Why can't you do anything? I can't bear the pain ... Do something to help me, damn you.' Alfred had his back to me. 'You want me to do something, do you, you fat bitch?' he said quietly. 'All right then, I'll do something.'
I watched his strong hands pick up the hypodermic syringe and draw some liquid into it. Then he grabbed her arm roughly and sank the needle deep into it. She screamed once, then fell back on to the bed. I tip-toed away and let myself out quietly through the back door.
The funeral took place a week later. It was autumn, and Alfred's chrysanthemurns were in full bloom. On the night before the funeral he took out his powerful secateurs. Very deliberately he cut every one of them to fill the funeral hearse the next day. It was like a massacre. I watched him from behind the curtains: he was smiling.
Alfred returned to work the following Monday. 'The devil makes work for idle hands,' he remarked with a cheerless smile. To begin with no one suspected anything. After all, Sarah had sunk into a coma before. Only this tirne she had not come out of it. What could be more normal? But then there was the coroner's report. He had ordered an autopsy. Only I knew why. That was the end of Alfred.
It was Friday when the police arrived to take him away. 'It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good,' he said, as they pushed him into the police-car. What happened at the trial is still a blur for me, but the words 'while the balance of his mind was disturbed' still ring in my ears.
As we walked down into the garden, I asked, 'Why did you do it?' We were now among the chrysanthemums. Some of them were beginning to open. Alfred took a pair of sharp gardener's secateurs from his apron pocket. I heard the stalks crunch as he severed six blooms. He handed them to me and said, 'The survival of the fittest. Now let me ask you a question. Who tipped off the coroner?'
Then he smiled his enigmatic smile.
We did not have one of our own. Perhaps she wanted to have someone in the Philps's house in case anything happened to Sarah. So every afternoon from four to five I would bang away at my scales and the silly pieces set for me by my teacher Miss Croop. I still remember the cheerless living-room with its bare linoleum and the photograph of Norman. The piano echoed in the empty room. I wotild usually leave just before Alfred returned and would put my head round the bedroom door to say goodbye to Sarah. Usually she was in a semi-coma. When she wasn't, she would bellow, 'Make sure you shut the door properly behind you.' I always felt relieved when I had left that house. On that last occasion, I was about to go in when I saw that the door was ajar. Through the opening I could see Sarah sitting on the side of the bed. She was half-naked and her great flabby body shook with her sobs. I can't stand it any more,' she moaned. 'You're useless, Alfred. Why can't you do anything? I can't bear the pain ... Do something to help me, damn you.' Alfred had his back to me. 'You want me to do something, do you, you fat bitch?' he said quietly. 'All right then, I'll do something.' I watched his strong hands pick up the hypodermic syringe and draw some liquid into it. Then he grabbed her arm roughly and sank the needle deep into it. She screamed once, then fell back on to the bed. I tip-toed away and let myself out quietly through the back door. งานศพเกิดขึ้นสัปดาห์ต่อมา มันเป็นฤดูใบไม้ร่วง และ chrysanthemurns ของอัลเฟรดในบานเต็ม ในคืนก่อนงานศพ เขาเอาออกกรรไกรอันทรงพลังของเขา จงใจเขาตัดทุกหนึ่งของพวกเขาเพื่อเติมเต็มทุกศพศพในวันถัดไป มันเป็นเหมือนการสังหารหมู่ ผมเห็นจากหลังม่าน: เขายิ้ม อัลเฟรดกลับไปทำงานต่อไปนี้วันจันทร์ ' มารทำให้การทำงานสำหรับงานมือ เขากล่าวว่า ด้วยรอยยิ้ม cheerless เริ่มต้นด้วย ไม่มีใครสงสัยอะไร ซาราห์ได้อับปางลงในอาการโคม่าก่อน เท่านี้ tirne เธอไม่ได้มาจากมัน สิ่งที่อาจจะมากกว่าปกติ แต่จากนั้น มีรายงานของกัวลาลัมเปอร์ เขาได้สั่งการชันสูตรพลิกศพ เท่า ที่ผมรู้ว่าทำไม ที่เป็นจุดสิ้นสุดของอัลเฟรด ศุกร์เมื่อตำรวจมาถึงจะเขาไปได้ 'มันเป็นวายร้ายที่พัดไม่มีใครก็ดี เขากล่าว ตามที่พวกเขาผลักเขาเข้าไปในรถตำรวจ สิ่งที่เกิดขึ้นในการทดลองยังคงเบลอค่ะ แต่ยังคงคำ 'ในขณะที่เป็นรบกวนสมดุลของจิตใจของเขา' แหวนในหูของฉัน ขณะที่เราเดินลงเข้าไปในสวน ถาม 'ทำไมคุณทำมัน' เรามีขณะนี้ระหว่างเบญจมาศ บางส่วนของพวกเขาได้เริ่มเปิด อัลเฟรดเอาคู่ของกรรไกรคมสวนจากกระเป๋าผ้ากันเปื้อนของเขา ผมได้ยินกระทืบก้านเป็นเขา severed หกบุปผา เขามอบให้ฉัน และกล่าว ว่า, ' สมาคม ตอนนี้ ผมขอถามคุณคำถาม ที่ปลายปิดในกัวลาลัมเปอร์?' แล้ว ยิ้มรอยยิ้มที่ลึกลับของเขา
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