"And for the rest of 'em, I've killed a man. The whole world hates me; the whole world's hunting me."
The small hands tugged away. He dared not raise his bowed and miserable head for fear of her eyes. And then the hands came back to him and touched his face.
She was saying tremulously: "Then he deserved to be killed. There must be men like that—almost. And I—like you still, Pierre."
"Really?"
"I almost think I like you more—because you could kill a man—and then stay here for me."
"If you were a grown-up girl, do you know what I'd say?"
"Please tell me."
"That I could love you."
"Pierre—"
"Yes."