“I thought he meant to kill you,” she said dully.
“He did,” said Rotherby. “You saved my life.”
“Did I?” Her look fell away from him. “It wasn’t for your sake,” she said, after a moment. “It was for his.”
“I gathered that,” said Rotherby. “That’s what makes you so wonderful.”
“I don’t feel wonderful,” she said.
He leaned towards her. “Don’t cry!” he said again. “You are wonderful. And you’ve made me feel a cur of the very first magnitude. That’s something to accomplish, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking of you.”
“You’re worn out,” he said. “Have some food, and I’ll take you back. You’re going to trust me, aren’t you? I swear I won’t let you down after this. You’re not afraid of me?”
“Oh no, I am not afraid of you,” she said.
In a detached, impersonal fashion, out of the depths of her despair, she wondered how he could imagine that he or his actions had the slightest importance for her. Could anything in the world really matter after this cataclysm? He might have been a total stranger, ministering to her, so small was his significance now.