“Then nobody knows she’s here—but me and you?”
“That’s all.”
“Well,” said Eddy.
Again Ross had a distinct warning of danger, and again he defied it, standing there stubbornly resistant to all the ill winds that might blow.
“This kid,” Eddy pointed out—“she hasn’t got anybody in the world.”
As if by common consent, they both turned to look at the child. She was holding the rabbit aloft, and trying to touch it with one little bare foot; she was quite happy; with superb unconcern she left her fate in the hands of these two young men.
“I’d explain it to you, if I could,” Eddy went on; “but I can’t, just now. Later on, maybe. Only, she can’t stay here. I got to take her away before anybody sees her.” He paused. “I know somewheres I could leave her today, and bring her back here tonight, all right, only after that—”
A dim and monstrous suspicion stirred in Ross, but he would not examine it. He did not want to understand.
“After that,” he said, “I’ll look after her.”