“Don’t!” she cried. “Can it be that you do not realize the offensiveness, the criminality of such a declaration?”
“Is it a crime to love you?” I asked.
“It is a crime to tell me so,” she replied with something of haughtiness.
“Then I am a confirmed criminal,” I replied, “for I cannot help telling you that I love you, whenever I see you.”
“If that is the case, you must not see me again, for you must never again speak those words to me,” she said decisively. “Because of the service you have rendered me, I forgive you your past offenses; but do not repeat them.”
“What if I can’t help it?” I inquired.
“You must help it,” she stated seriously; “it is a matter of life and death to you.”
Her words puzzled me. “I do not understand what you mean,” I admitted.
“Kamlot, Honan, any of the Vepajans aboard this ship would kill you if they knew,” she replied. “The jong, my father, would have you destroyed upon our return to Vepaja—it would all depend upon whom I told first.”
I came a little closer to her and looked straight into her eyes. “You would never tell,” I whispered.