He looked at his watch.
“I must go now, dear. I daren’t stay. It’s dangerous.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“But when is the brute going?”
“Poor darling, he’s going next week—next Thursday.”
“Well then, I’ll—I’ll—”
“Please, you must go.”
“I’m going.”
She held out her hand.
“I daren’t touch you,” he whispered. “I’m going now. But I’ll come again next Friday, and I’ll stay.”