And she knew that it was true.
She continued to look at him and he did not try to meet her eyes. "What did they tell you?" he said, after a long pause, remembering that he had denied before a charge had been made.
She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have heard him. "I must go," she murmured, and began slowly to descend the stoop.
He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. "Hilda!" he pleaded. "Let me explain!"
"Don't touch me!" She snatched her arm away from him. She ran down the rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept close to the shadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A with hanging head, feeling that the eyes of all were upon her, condemning, scorning. She hid herself in her little room, locking the door. Down beside the bed she sank and buried her face in the covers. And there she lay, racked with the pain of her gaping wounds—wounds to love, to trust, to pride, to self-respect. "Oh, God, let me die," she moaned. "I can't ever look anybody in the face again."
VIII
A SHEEP WIELDS THE SHEARS
A few days later Peter Ganser appeared before Beck, triumph flaunting from his stupid features. Beck instantly scented bad news.
"Stop the case," said Peter with a vulgar insolence that grated upon the lawyer. "It's no good."