Rutledge made a faint motion of assent, and the Deacon added: “How did you know it was there she wanted you to come?”
“She ... just drew me....”
There was a long pause. Bosworth felt, on himself and the other two men, the oppressive weight of the next question to be asked. Mrs. Rutledge opened and closed her narrow lips once or twice, like some beached shell-fish gasping for the tide. Rutledge waited.
“Well, now, Saul, won’t you go on with what you was telling us?” the Deacon at length suggested.
“That’s all. There’s nothing else.”
The Deacon lowered his voice. “She just draws you?”
“Yes.”
“Often?”
“That’s as it happens....”
“But if it’s always there she draws you, man, haven’t you the strength to keep away from the place?”