From where she sat, shorthand book open, pencil poised, Lilly had
observed it quite casually, although it was some time before she could
co-ordinate it with what ensued.
Suddenly there was the flash of the two men to their feet, R.J., an
ox-blood surging into his face, kicking shut the valise, his brother
whitening and quivering.
"Why did you lie about that box!"
"What do you mean?" said Robert, through his teeth, his color so livid
that teeth and eyeballs seemed to whiten.
His voice like the splitting of silk, Bruce plunged down a pointing
forefinger toward the bag.
"Open that up," he said.
"The hell I will."
With one swift stroke from the lighter and lither of them, the bag was
on its side, spilling its contents of tortoise-shell hair brushes and
the silver box, Bruce standing above it, tightening of jaw and knuckles.
"Liar!" he cried. "Liar!"
To Lilly it seemed that out of these years of apparently placid
relationship, with something avuncular, even of father and son in it,
here were suddenly and terribly Cain and Abel, elemental with an itch
for each other's throat.
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