"Nothing."
"Isn't there something to do?"
"Nothing."
"Perhaps, all this time he really cares for you."
"There is not the slightest possibility. I had my chance; he cared for me—at that moment—when he told me so.... Those men out there"—she made a vague gesture toward the unseen hills—"are no more deadly cool when they shoot than was I when I deliberately killed in him whatever love he may have had for me.... I slew it, I tell you. There is no resurrection for dead things."
Silvette sighed heavily, and laid her smooth cheek against her sister's hair.
"Still," she murmured half to herself, "there are miracles."
"There were."
"There may be others yet."
"No; I wounded his pride."