“Yes, I’d better go,” said Richard, rising.
“I want to say good-bye to you,” said Kangaroo faintly, looking up at him with strange, beseeching eyes.
Richard, very pale at the gills, sat down again in the chair. Jack watched them both, scowling.
“Go out, nurse,” whispered Kangaroo, touching her hand with his fingers, in a loving kind of motion. “I’m all right.”
“Oh, Mr Cooley, don’t fret, don’t,” she pleaded.
He watched her with dark, subtle, equivocal eyes, then glanced at the door. She went, obedient, and Jack followed her.
“Good-bye, Lovat!” said Kangaroo in a whisper, turning his face to Somers and reaching out his hand. Richard took the clammy, feeble hand. He did not speak. His lips were closed firmly, his face pale and proud looking. He looked back into Kangaroo’s eyes, unconscious of what he saw. He was only isolated again in endurance. Grief, torture, shame, seethed low down in him. But his breast and shoulders and face were hard as if turned to rock. He had no choice.
“You’ve killed me. You’ve killed me, Lovat!” whispered Kangaroo. “Say good-bye to me. Say you love me now you’ve done it, and I won’t hate you for it.” The voice was weak and tense.
“But I haven’t killed you, Kangaroo. I wouldn’t be here holding your hand if I had. I’m only so sorry some other villain did such a thing.” Richard spoke very gently, like a woman.
“Yes, you’ve killed me,” whispered Kangaroo hoarsely.