"I can't," he whispered. "You know that as well as I do."
Her eyes looked up sideways from their cowering. They were surprised, bewildered, incredulous.
"But I'm soaked through. I'm wet to me skin."
She was on the threshold. She had her hand to the door.
He could see her leaning forward a little, ready to fling her body upon the door if he tried, brutally, to shut it in her face. It was as if she actually thought that he would try.
He knew then that he was not going to shut the door.
"Come in out of the rain. And for God's sake don't make a noise."
"I'm not making a noise. I didn't even ring the bell."
He drew back before her as she came in, creeping softly in a pitiful submission. Though the passage was lighted from the street through the wide-open door, she went as if feeling her way along it, with a hand on the wall.
Ransome turned. He had no desire to look at her.