I said, with all of my patience: "Rena, I heard them talking about bombing the Home Office. Do you think I am going to forget that?"
Leadenly: "No, Tom."
"So what does it matter if you tell me more? If I cannot be trusted, I already know too much. If I can be trusted, what does it matter if I know the rest?"
Again tears. "Please don't ask me!"
I yelled: "At least you can tell me what we're waiting for!"
She dabbed at her eyes. "Please, Tom, I don't know much more than you do. Slovetski, he is like this sometimes. He gets, I suppose you would say, thoughtful. He concentrates so very much on one thing, you see, that he forgets everything around him. It is possible that he has forgotten that we are waiting. I don't know."
I snarled, "I'm tired of this. Go in and remind him!"
"No, Tom!" There was fright in her voice; and I found that she had told me one of the things I wanted to know. If it was not wise to remind Slovetski that I was waiting his pleasure, the probability was that it would not be pleasant for me when he remembered.
I said, "But you must know something, Rena. Don't you see that it could do no harm to tell me?"
She said miserably, "Tom, I know very little. I did not—did not know as much as you found out." I stared at her. She nodded. "I had perhaps a suspicion, it is true. Yes, I suspected. But I did not really think, Tom, that there was a question of bombing. It is not how we were taught. It is not what Slovetski promised, when we began."