“Not alone,” he replied; “not without you.”
“Madness,” she murmured, gathering her wavering cloak about her breast. She swayed, graceful as a reed in the wind, charged with potency. He made an involuntary gesture toward her with his arms; but in a sudden accession of fear she eluded him.
“We must talk,” he told her. “There is a great deal that needs explaining, that—I think—I have a right to know, the right of your dependence on something to save you from yourself. There is another right, but only you can give that—”
“Indeed,” she interrupted tensely, “you mustn’t stand here talking to me.”
“I shall allow nothing to interrupt us,” he returned decidedly. “I have been long enough in the dark.”
“But you don’t understand what you will, perhaps, bring on yourself—on me.”
“I’m forced to ignore even that last.”
She glanced hurriedly about. “Not here then, if you must.”
She walked from him, toward the second ruined pile that fronted the bay. The steps to the gaping entrance had rotted away and they were forced to mount an insecure side piece. The interior, as Woolfolk had seen, was composed of one high room, while, above, a narrow, open second story hung like a ledge. On both sides were long counters with mounting sets of shelves behind them.
“This was the store,” Millie told him. “It was a great estate.”