"No. But a few days ago I heard something.... I knew he was very thick with Cantire. I saw it coming."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"How could I?"
"No; I see.... I had to find out for myself.... Well, it's finished now." She stared blankly in front of her.
"Do you care so terribly?" he asked, after a pause.
She shook her head. "That's dead, I think. Everything's dead except myself, and I want to be. I can't stand it: the hardness—and the loneliness."
"I thought you were brave."
"Not when I don't want to be."
"I'm lonely too," he said; "but I haven't turned my back on life, partly because your advice helped me when I was feeling very down. Don't you think suicide is rather a craven thing?"
"Perhaps.... I shall have to go on living now, I suppose," she admitted dully. "Oh, damn that policeman! I should have been pulp by this time! That's the second failure. I took laudanum this afternoon, and was only sick."