Mason got to his feet, started to turn away from the screen, then swung back to sit down once more. “How far can I go with this thing?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Don’t involve Rossy,” she said.
“Suppose I have to drag Rossy in to get you out?” he inquired, watching her narrowly.
“Then don’t get me out.”
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Of course I do.”
“You’re in bad,” Mason said, “Plenty bad. Anything may happen. With your looks, your brain and your figure, a jury isn’t apt to hang you. You may get life imprisonment. You may get a first-degree murder verdict without any recommendation, which will automatically mean the death penalty. It’s all right now for you to stick your chin up and tell me to keep Rossy out of it, but what’ll happen when the zero hour comes? Will you reproach me for letting you tie my hands?”
She got to her feet then, stood facing him across the screened table. “Mr. Mason,” she said, “when I do anything, I do it wholeheartedly, and I’m not inclined to regret it afterwards, no matter what the circumstances are. That’s my code of life. Lots of people live namby-pamby littles lives, in which they try to blame their mistakes on someone else. I don’t. You’ve asked me if I can take it. Now I’m asking you if you can take it.”