“No. It’s all a mess so far—feeling about in the dark—nothing sure.”
“But they must be feeling about after some one?”
“Darling, what’s the good of talking about it? It’s only going round and round the same subject like a squirrel in a cage. We don’t get many minutes together and we don’t want to spoil them. Let’s try to forget just while we’re here.”
“Forget!” she exclaimed. “Nothing would make me do that but being dead myself.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder and drew her hand from his to clasp it round his arm. He said nothing for a moment, perturbed by her words and tone. He had thought of getting her away, having her moved to Hayworth. Now he felt he must do it at once, the shadow of the tragedy was too dark on her spirit.
“I’ve got to get her out of here if I go to jail for it,” he said to himself. “She can’t stand much more of this.”
She too was silent for a space, stilled by the attack of a sudden temptation. His tenderness had weakened her, the gulf between them seemed too much to bear when the way was so perilous to travel alone. She wanted to be close to him again, break down the barriers and extend her arms to him for succor and support. He would calm the upwellings of terror that rose in her, perhaps have some man’s solution for her desperate problem. The desire to tell him gripped her, undermined her will like a disintegrating drug. She did not dare to broach it suddenly, sense enough remained in her to go carefully, step by step.
“I wonder if any one here does know something and is keeping it back.”
“It may be—too frightened to speak.”
“Well, if they did—I mean something that looks suspicious, might be a help—they’d be expected to tell, wouldn’t they?”