Chapter 9

Slowly, I lowered the revolver, and smiled--not as Louis would have smiled but as a maniac, formed in his likeness, would have smiled. Her lips framed the word “Louis,” but, in the grip of despair, she made no sound. It was the despair not merely of a woman who felt herself doomed to death, but of a woman who consigned her loved one to a fate worse than death. Still I smiled--with growing difficulty, for Louis’ personality was restive and my time in the usurped body was short. In that moment, I was not anxious to g…