Then she could have done many things, and one certainly: discover where Jasper Gwyn was hiding. It wouldn’t be difficult to track him down, by going to Rode’s publisher or the publisher of Three Times at Dawn. Surely in exchange for silence they would give her an address, or something.
Yet for several days she lived her normal life, only allowing herself from time to time some secret thoughts. Every so often she lost herself in imagining a scene of arriving in some ridiculous place, and sitting in front of a house, to wait. She imagined never returning. Many times she wrote and rewrote in her mind a short letter, handwritten, in an elegant script. She would like him to know that she knew, nothing more. And that she was delighted by it. Every so often she thought of Doc, and how wonderful it would be to tell him about it. Or how wonderful it would be to tell everything to anyone, over and over again.
While in the meantime she lived her everyday life.
When she felt that it was the moment, among all the things that she could have done she chose one, the smallest—the last.