He walked to his bed and lay down slowly, as unrelaxed as a figure of stone on a tomb. No more conversations with Lelia, no more happiness shared with her when she sold a picture, or when a reviewer wrote a word of praise. As a painter, Lelia was going to be judged by what she had done up until yesterday at the age of thirty years and one month. Theodore’s blood began to stir with thoughts of revenge. Whoever had done it would pay with his life. He would see to that, even if there were no capital punishment in Mexico.
So far, this book is quite different from other Highsmith books. I'm not complaining.
We're straight into the action, but there is more visual cruelty in this one. This is unusual for Highsmith. There is also more deliberation about the concepts of art and character, which reminds me of The Tremor of Forgery in that we follow a character who is an ex-pat in a society that is foreign to him. He tries to blend in, but he just can't overcome standing at least a little aside from the rest of the people he interacts with.