He’d never killed. He’d taken life, but only when it was finished with. There was a difference between theft and stealing by finding. NOT THE CLEAVER, he said wearily. GIVE ME THE CHICKEN. He turned his back for a moment, then handed the limp body to Miss Flitworth. “Well done,” she said, and went back to the kitchen. Bill Door felt Cyril’s accusing gaze on him. He opened his hand. A tiny spot of light hovered over his palm. He blew on it, gently, and it faded away. After lunch they put down the rat poison. He felt like a murderer.
