She stood, staring at me. Twice her lips moved, parted, trembled, and refused to utter the answer. Her hands gripped the coping, and I saw her arms stiffen.
“Bernoline, you are—married!” I said, in a whisper. “Is it that?”
Still she did not answer.
“Bernoline, for God’s sake, say it is not that.”
“Yes, yes—it is—that!”
I should not have known her voice.
“Good God! Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I was stunned; yet it seemed as though I had always known—that it could have been nothing else. The world went black before me.
“He is alive?” I said, at last.