“Yes. What’s the good of what lies between us? You’ve destroyed me. That’s why you want to get rid of me. Your instinct tells you the work is done, and you’re right. But you must stick to the wreckage. After all, it’s your wreckage.”
“No. A man can only destroy himself,” she said, with cold defiance.
“Don’t let’s argue about it. The thing’s done—done!”
In his voice there was a sound of almost wild despair, but his face preserved its hard, mask-like look.
“And there’s no returning from destruction,” he added. “Those who try to fancy there is are just fools.”
He looked up at her as she stood before him, and seemed suddenly struck by the expression on her face.
“Who’s to be the one to destroy you?” he said. “D’you think the Unknown God has singled me out for the job? Or do you really expect to escape scot-free after making the sign of the cross over so many lost souls.”
“The sign of the cross?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember when I told you of Brayfield’s death? You’ve never given him a thought since, I suppose. But I’ll make you keep on thinking about me.”
“What has happened to-night?” she asked sharply.