Plainly he did not think her sane. "This can't be true," he said in a voice that seemed to drop from a great height.
"Yes, it's true. I can show you the thing—the paper. Here it is. Do you want to read it? Oh, yes, it's true."
"But it can't be! I don't understand! I don't understand it. Who—For God's sake, tell me the whole tale."
She told it quickly, in dull tones, and as she watched his face she saw a sickly grey colour invade his tan.
"Don't, don't look like that!" she cried.
"Are you quite sure you're married?" he asked in his new voice. "Let me look at this thing."
Outside, the snow fell thicker, darkening the room, and as she took a step nearer, she saw the muscles twitching in his cheeks. He laid the paper on her dressing-table.
"May his soul rot!" he whispered. He did not look at her. Darkness and distance lay between them, but fearfully she crept up to him and touched his arm.
"Zebedee—"
He turned swiftly, and his face made her shrink back.