Denver struck the ashes from his empty pipe.
�Remorse? Bosh!� he said energetically.
Granice�s heart sank. �You don�t believe in—remorse?�
�Not an atom: in the man of action. The mere fact of your talking of remorse proves to me that you�re not the man to have planned and put through such a job.�
Granice groaned. �Well—I lied to you about remorse. I�ve never felt any.�
Denver�s lips tightened sceptically about his freshly-filled pipe. �What was your motive, then? You must have had one.�
�I�ll tell you—� And Granice began again to rehearse the story of his failure, of his loathing for life. �Don�t say you don�t believe me this time... that this isn�t a real reason!� he stammered out piteously as he ended.
Denver meditated. �No, I won�t say that. I�ve seen too many queer things. There�s always a reason for wanting to get out of life—the wonder is that we find so many for staying in!� Granice�s heart grew light. �Then you do believe me?� he faltered.
�Believe that you�re sick of the job? Yes. And that you haven�t the nerve to pull the trigger? Oh, yes—that�s easy enough, too. But all that doesn�t make you a murderer—though I don�t say it proves you could never have been one.�
�I have been one, Denver—I swear to you.�