Quentin stood over the sleeping form and clenched the knife tightly in his hand. Here was the woman he loved, the first person who'd shown him true affection, the wonderful creature whose very laugh made him want to sing. Could he really go through with this? One transgression, which she had tearfully labeled a terrible mistake. For that, did she deserve death? He wrestled with the question for what seemed an eternity. But while his logical mind desperately tried to stay his hand, in his liver he knew what he must do. He raised the blade. It glinted with deadly promise in the moonlight, then vanished as he plunged it into his darling.