"One enjoys conversing with a man once in a while," she replied, and she turned from him a glance of supreme contempt and loathing that pierced the thickness of his conceit. Disconcerted and confused, he beat a flurried retreat, jerking shut the door with a violent slam.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE SHORTEST WAY
The noise of the door jarred Blake from his lethargy. He groaned and sluggishly raised his head. His face was bloodless and haggard, his bloodshot eyes were dull and bleared. He had the look of a man at the close of a drunken debauch.
Dolores hastened to him, exclaiming, "Mr. Blake, you are ill! I shall phone for a doctor!"
"No," he mumbled apologetically. "Don't bother yourself, Miss Dolores.
It's not a doctor I need. I'm only—"
"You are ill! I'll call Genevieve." She started toward the door.
"Don't!" he cried. "Not her—for God's sake, not her!" He rose to his feet heavily but steadily. "I'm going—away."
"Going away? Where?" asked Dolores, puzzled and concerned.
"Alaska—Panama—anywhere! You're the right sort, Miss Dolores. You'll explain to her why I had to go without stopping to say good-bye."