She brooded. Her lower lip was thrust out, her pencilled eyebrows drawn together in a vicious' scowl.
"The damned swine," she said. "I'd like to see them all die the most horrible deaths. I'd like to see them being burnt alive or something, and jeer at them… My God, I wish I had a cigarette… Doesn't it seem ages since we were having dinner at the Berkeley? Simon, do you think they're really going to kill us?"
"I expect their ideas are running more or less along those lines," he admitted. "But they haven't done it yet. What 'll you bet me we aren't dining at the Berkeley again tomorrow?"
"It's all very well for you to talk like that," she said. "It's your job. But I'm scared." She shivered. Her voice rose a trifle. "It's horrible! I don't want to die! I–I want to have a good time, and wear nice clothes, and — and… Oh, what's the good?" She stared at him sullenly in the dimming light. "I suppose you think that's frightful of me. If your girl friend was in my place I expect she'd think this was an awfully jolly party. I suppose she simply revels in being rolled over in cars, and knocked on the head, and mauled about and tied up and waiting to be killed, and all the rest of it. Well, all I can say is, I wish she was here instead of me."
The Saint chuckled. He was not particularly amused, but he didn't want her nerve to crack completely, and he knew that her breaking point was not very far away. "After all, you chose me for a husband, darling. I tried to discourage you, but you seemed to have made up your mind that you liked the life. Never mind. I'm pretty good at getting out of jams."
"Even if we do get out, I expect my hair will be snow white or something," she said miserably.
She blinked. Her eyes were very large and solemn; she looked very childish and pathetic. A pair of big bright tears formed in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
"I… I do hate this so much," she whispered. "And I'm so uncomfortable."
"All the same, you mustn't cry," he said. "The floor's damp enough already."
"It couldn't be any damper. So why shouldn't I cry? I can think of dozens of things I'd like to do, and crying's the only one of them I can do. So why shouldn't I?"