She felt of his forehead, his hands. He was dead.
"He's gone," said she.
This too, in her way of thinking, was admirable. Came a pause. Candelas had got up, and now the two friends questioned each other with their eyes. The same idea, the same terror had just struck them both. Enrique's death would compromise them. The law would institute researches, and the girls might easily be called upon to testify. Instincts of self-preservation drove memories of the dead man from them.
"We're in a terrible position," said Alicia. "It's all your fault. I didn't want to come."
"It's your fault!"
"Mine?"
"Of course! Who made him steal, but you?"
"I did? I?"
"Yes, you idiot!"