“Neither Sanang nor Togrul have appeared in Boston,” he said. “I think they’re here in New York.”
The girl said nothing.
After a silence:
“Are you worried about your husband?” he asked abruptly.
“I am always uneasy when he is absent,” she said quietly.
“Of course.... But I don’t suppose he knows that.”
“I suppose not.”
Recklow leaned over, took a coal in the tongs and lighted a cigar. Leaning back in his armchair, he said in a musing voice:
“No, I suppose your husband does not realise that you are so deeply concerned over his welfare.”
The girl remained silent.