“Who?”
“Any—physician.” Suddenly her white fury was loosened and she took him by his ragged arm and shook him till he stumbled and almost fell.
“I tell you this,” she said, her grey eyes blazing, “because you had better understand it in time to save yourself from another term in prison! For if you ever dare contest the action I shall bring with the vile lie you threaten, any witness I call will send you back to a cell,—and your attorney with you! And that’s that, damn you!”
Her hand fell away from his sleeve. He stood motionless, sickly white as though something vital in him had been shattered.
For, as he stared at her, he never doubted that she had spoken the truth. And the truth meant his finish.
As he stood there, stricken dumb, his bony frame was shaking slightly and sweat chilled his face. He groped for control of what mind his drugs had spared him,—strove to clear it of chaos, formulate some thought, some charge of misconduct against her—something to involve her with some man. And knew, somehow, that it would be useless. The girl had not lied. Any witness she chose to call meant her vindication.
After a long while he passed his scarred fingers over his face, wiping the sweat from his eyes. Then he turned, slouched toward the door, opened it. And, on the sill, slowly faced around and looked back at her.
“You win, Eris,” he mumbled. “I guess you’re good.... Stay so, and I won’t bother you.... But I won’t stand for any other man.... Don’t make any mistake there.... I mean Albert Smull. I know him. I know how he gets women. You think you stop him but he’ll fool you every time.... He’s a rat.... You keep away from him.... That’s all.”
He went, shambling, dull eyed, ghastly, picking at his face with long, scarred fingers.