“I suppose they will kill him. And I suppose this bomb will kill us.”
“It must injure us,” he said.
“How long have we, before it bursts?”
“Ten and a half minutes.”
“Supposing one of us should escape?”
“We had better have no false hopes,” he said. “We’re not likely to leave this house alive.”
“I meant only this,” she said: “the survivor might take a message. Is there any message that you would care to trust me with?”
“You might explain to my aunt, old Lady Crowthorne, in England. Would you care to trust any message to me?”
“To my brother, if he be alive,” she said; “and to my father—he is really my stepfather—Hardy Kingsborough, of Passion Courtenay, in Berkshire. Can you remember that?”
“Passion Courtenay?”