Bennett took her hands, and saw the fear gradually die out of her eyes as he spoke with slow emphasis. She gave a little shudder, as of one who grows accustomed to warmth after coming in out of cold.
"It's a funny thing," she said meditatively, "but I'm rather glad of one thing about it. Glad he did it, in a way..:'
"Glad?" said Willard.
"Because he'll never try it again. Don't you see?" she demanded. "When he wakes up out of that stupor, he'll begin to realize things. He did it for — for her. And he'll suddenly realize that it wasn't worth it. I don't suppose I can explain what I mean, but just that act of," she struck her hands against her breast, wincing at the thought rather than the movement, "just that, do you see, will have done away with it for good."
Willard stared through the window at the austerity of the snow. He spoke absently, in a low voice that slowly gathered resonance: `-or cleanse the stuffed bosom of the perilous stuff that weighs upon the heart.. " For a moment it rose with terrible power.
His hand dropped flatly to the window-seat. He turned, smiling.
"The cure is drastic, Kate. What about Louise? Is she better?"
"She is going downstairs presently. That is what I want to ask you both about." A pause. "I suppose I'd better tell her what the police think?"
"Yes, in any case. Has she told you anything?" "No!"
"But don't you think it's possible-"