But mere thought of the
law frightened her; the longer she pondered her situation the more
she realized her own impotence. There was no doubt that the courts
were corrupt: they were notoriously venal at best, and this war
had made them worse. Graft was rampant everywhere. To confess
publicly that Esteban Varona had left no deeds, no title to his
property, would indeed be the sheerest folly. No, Cueto had her at
his mercy.
Sometime during the course of the evening a wild idea came to
Isabel. Knowing that the manager would spend the night beneath her
roof, she planned to kill him. At first it seemed a simple thing
to do--merely a matter of a dagger or a pistol, while he slept--
but further thought revealed appalling risks and difficulties, and
she decided to wait. Poison was far safer.
That night she lay awake a long time putting her scheme into final
shape, and then for an interval that seemed longer she hung poised
in those penumbral regions midway between wakefulness and slumber.
Through her mind meanwhile there passed a whirling phantasmagoria,
an interminable procession of figures, of memories, real yet
unreal, convincing yet unconvincing. When she did at last lose all
awareness of reality the effect was merely to enhance the
vividness of those phantoms, to lend substance to her vaporous
visions.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71