“Certainly not! You know better than to ask that, Jan-an.”
“Nor his––Larry Rivers?”
“No, I am not his friend.”
Thus reassured once more, Jan-an ventured nearer:
“You don’t aim to hurt––her?”
“Whom do you mean?” Northrup was perplexed by the growing intelligence in the face across the table. It was like a slow revealing of a groping power.
“I mean them––Mary-Clare and Noreen.”
“Hurt them? Why, Jan-an, I’d do anything to help them, make them safe and happy.” Northrup felt as if he and the girl opposite were rapidly becoming accomplices in a tense plot. “What does all this mean?”
“As God seeing yer, yer mean that?” Jan-an leaned forward.