Inheritance, p.4
Inheritance, page 4
Panting, Tolley pushed through the gate, saw with dull shock the figure waiting beside his car. For a moment he thought that his heart would stop; then the dog bounded ahead, and he realized that it was Marjorie Beaumont, and he wondered how he could tell her about her husband.
But then she spoke, her voice halting and heavy. It was her voice, but Tolley knew at once that she was not using it.
“Here’s your inheritance.”
The bloody head of the walking stick caught the first light of the sun when she swung it at him.
Paul J. McAuley, Inheritance
