»Would you be shamed to go back with such as me?«
A stern prolonged silence, and then a reply, solid and inflexible as unpolished rock:
»I am not going back. I don't want to be fine.«
Silence. Then presently:
»They are gentlemen,« he said, and his voice sounded solitary and strained.
»Who?« she asked, dully.
»They—Those who were.«
A long silence—this time as though a bird had thrown itself down and was falling, whirling through the air on its pliant wings, but unable to reach the earth, unable to strike the ground and lie at rest.
In the dark he knew that Liuba, silently, carefully, making the least stir possible, passed over him; was busying herself with something.
»What are you doing?«