“Nothin' I want, but just get out of here.”
Nedda murmured helplessly:
“It's only a month now to the assizes. Does Mr. Pogram come to see you?”
“Yes, he comes. He can't do nothin'!”
“Oh, don't despair! Even if they don't acquit you, it'll soon be over. Don't despair!” And she stole her hand out and timidly touched his arm. She felt her heart turning over and over, he looked so sad.
He said in that stumbling, thick voice:
“Thank you kindly. I must get out. I won't stand long of it—not much longer. I'm not used to it—always been accustomed to the air, an' bein' about, that's where 'tis. But don't you tell him, miss. You say I'm goin' along all right. Don't you tell him what I said. 'Tis no use him frettin' over me. 'Twon' do me no good.”
And Nedda murmured:
“No, no; I won't tell him.”
Then suddenly came the words she had dreaded: