From Stern she took the telescope, adjusted it, and gazed minutely at the shattered pile of stone and metal.
Blotched as with leprosy stood the walls, whence many hundreds of blocks had fallen into Broadway forming a vast moraine that for some distance choked that thoroughfare.
In numberless places the steel frame peered through. The whole roof had caved in, crushing down the upper stories, of which only a few sparse upstanding metal beams remained.
The girl's gaze was directed at a certain spot which she knew well.
“Oh, I can even see--into some of the offices on the eighteenth floor!” cried she. “There, look?” And she pointed. “That one near the front! I--I used to know--”
She broke short off. In her trembling hands the telescope sank. Stern saw that she was very pale.
“Take me down!” she whispered. “I can't stand it any longer--I can't, possibly! The sight of that wrecked office! Let's go down where I can't see that!”
Gently, as though she had been a frightened child, Stern led her round the platform to the doorway, then down the crumbling stairs and so to the wreckage and dust-strewn confusion of what had been his office.
And there, his hand upon her shoulder, he bade her still be of good courage.
“Listen now, Beatrice,” said he. “Let's try to reason this thing out together, let's try to solve this problem like two intelligent human beings.