"What the deuce are they waiting for?" Harry growled, after one of their visits with food and water. "Why don't they end it?"
"Most likely because a well man can appreciate torture better than a sick one," I answered, not having seen fit to speak of it before. "You may be sure we'll get all that's coming to us."
"But what will they do?"
"Heaven knows. They are capable of anything. We'll get the worst."
There was a silence; then Harry said slowly, hesitating:
"Paul—do you think—Desiree—"
"I don't think—I dare not think about her," I interrupted. "And it is our fault; we failed her. I should have put her beyond their reach, as I promised. I have reproached myself bitterly, Hal; you need add nothing."
"Do you think I would? Only—there is something else. About what she said to you. I knew that, you know."
I was silent; he continued:
"I knew it long ago. Do you think I am blind? And I want to say this while I have a chance—it was uncommon good of you. To take it the way you did, I mean."