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he crowd filed out to the backyard. Her lovely, neat backyard that had been sullied by those murdered girls.
We’re going to put things right now.
No one talked. No one even whispered. There was a sense of understanding all around, a resolve to do what was necessary.
Nobody seemed surprised to find the pile of torches stacked neatly beside the porch. She herself was not surprised, though she didn’t remember putting them there.
They weren’t the kind everyone had in films—jagged sticks of wood with their ends lit. These were the sort that people used around their patio in the summer so they could feel like they lived in Hawaii or some such place. And next to the torches was a large box of matches.
Mrs. Schneider picked up the box and struck the first one.
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