Summer 1945 – A Face That Reflects His Soul


Thatcher’s expression did not change. Both sides of his face might as well have been plaster. Nonetheless he lowered his throwing weapon and set it gently on the table to his left. Then he stepped out of grasping range. 

I lowered the .38 but did not set it down. 

At last he said, “You’re the spook. That’s hunts spooks.”

I did not rise to his bait.