We talk of George's future. Not of his past nor of his offence. Can't he escape? I try to make him think logically toward regaining his freedom. I want to pledge my help. He doesn't understand, or pretends not to. He has not lost anything. Bars cannot imprison his spirit.
I beg him to give himself and his life a better chance.
He smiles.
"Don't bother about me, Charlie. You have your work. Go on making the world laugh. Yours is a great task and a splendid one. Don't bother about me."
We are silent. I am choked up. I feel a sort of pent-up helplessness. I want relief. It comes.
The tears roll down my cheeks and George embraces me.
There are tears in both our eyes.
"Good-bye, Charlie."
"Good-bye, George."
What a party! Its noise disgusts me now. I call my car. I go back to the Ritz.