“How?” He thought she must understand, but she seemed purposely dense. “Sit down. Tell me about it. It can’t be so terrible—all of a sudden like this.”
He couldn’t sit down. He could only turn away from her and gulp in his dry throat. “You remember what I said—what I said—yesterday—about—about the—the Gissing fellow?”
She nodded fiercely. “Yes. Go on. Get it out.”
“Well—well—I’ve—I’ve done that.”
She threw out her arms. She threw back her head till the little nut-brown throat was taut. The cry rent her. It rent him.
“You—fool!”
He stood with head hanging. He longed to run away, and yet he longed also to throw himself at her feet. If he could have done exactly as he felt impelled, he would have laid his head on her breast and wept like a child.
She swung away from him, pacing the small room like a frenzied animal. Her breath came in short, hard pantings that were nearly sobs. Suddenly she stopped in front of him with a sort of calm.
“What made you?”