“Claire! Claire!” he pleaded wildly. “Will nothing change you?”
“There is no other way,” she said.
He stretched out his arms to draw her to him again, to lay her head once more upon his shoulder—but now she held him back.
“No!” she whispered. “Be merciful now, John—my strength is almost gone.”
And there was something in her voice that held him from the act.
The car stopped.
And then, as the door was opened and she stood up, suddenly she leaned swiftly forward and pressed her lips to his—and springing from the car, was gone.
John Bruce groped his way out of the car. Across the sidewalk the door of Paul Veniza's house closed. Hawkins, standing by the car door, clutched at his arm. And Hawkins' hand was trembling violently. Slowly his eyes met Hawkins'.
He shook his head.
The old lined face seemed to gray even in the murky light of a distant street lamp.