“You weren’t looking for me?”
“No. I was drawn here. Did you call me? You must have called. But what are you doing here? It’s still night.”
He put his thin arms convulsively round me.
“Yes, night. But it must soon be morning. Oh, Sinclair, to think that you didn’t forget me! Can you ever forgive me?”
“What then?”
“Ah, I was so hateful!”
Then I recollected our conversation. Had that taken place four, five days ago? It seemed to me like a lifetime. But suddenly I knew all. Not only what had occurred between us, but also why I had come and what Knauer wanted to do there.
“You wanted, then, to take your life, Knauer?”
He shuddered through cold and fear.
“Yes, I wanted to. I don’t know whether I could have. I wished to wait until the morning came.”