"Ah, so that's it—she never told you! But you're a fool. She had no reason—she was merely trying to save you from the truth about your mother, and she has let you believe his lies about herself. What a rotten fool you were to think that contemptible little mucker could ever have been anything to her. He lied to you, do you hear me? Lied to you about her, and she let you believe it—a fool herself for doing that—so you wouldn't know the truth about your own mother."
Slowly Ewing unclasped his hands from the throat of Teevan and stood facing the son. Two phrases rang in his ears: "He lied to you about her—the truth about your mother." He put up a hand to loosen his collar. It seemed now as if he himself were being choked.
"The truth about my mother—what truth about my mother?"
"Sit down there."
"What truth about my mother?"
"Come—get hold of yourself. The truth that your mother happened to be my mother."
Ewing passed a hand over his face, as if to awaken himself from some trance in which he had moved.
"Sit down there."
He felt for a chair now and sank awkwardly into it, repeating dazedly:
"My mother was your mother—" He could get no meaning from the words. The other answered sharply: