Hood slowly lit a cigarette and studied her face over the tip of his lighter flame. Judged by some standards she was evil; by others, simply amoral, ignorant of a normal sense of morality. But was she really evil, as opposed to morally loose? Bad enough to be mixed up in an ugly thing like this? The face looked back at him, old-young, was too wisely and professionally practical for him to pierce its veneer. He could not tell.

1966.