OCR Text |
Show 124 Hunt said, not sure, entirely, what i t was in agreement with. "Right. Thank you. We'll see." He checked the Schoefield's once again. It seemed shuttered: locked. "Have a good day," he said and waved and moved, somewhat uncertainly, toward his front door. "He said what?!" Leah's hair almost seemed electrified. "Burn - our -- house - down!" Leah repeated the words of Hunt's report, back inside. "Hunt? . . . He said . . . burn . . . our . . . house . . . down? I mean, according to his wife, he actually said that?" " I t ' s mostly glass," Hunt offered. "Oh, yes!" Leah shrieked. "Oh, yes! Hunt-The-Realist!" Her eyes blazed. She made a chant of i t to herself: "Hunt-The-Realist! Hunt-The-Realist! -God; Dear God!" The phone rang. They looked at one another. " I ' l l get i t , " Hunt ultimately said. " I ' l l never get i t ! " Leah said. " I ' l l never get i t again in my l i f e !" " . . . Sure. . . . Right -- sure . . . That's fine -- sure," Hunt spoke, nodding, to the lemon-yellow instrument, then hung up. He looked at Leah. How had the continent of themselves regressed so much in a single day? "It was our neighbor," Hunt f i n a l l y said, knowing that i t was probably one of the many explanations that Leah hoped she wouldn't hear. He watched the fact's sinking registration. "It was our neighbor," he repeated -- not sure why. His eyes had the faint active gloss of warm screens on computer terminals. "Which one?" Leah f i n a l l y asked. "Which neighbor? The one measuring |