“She—she seems to agree with me that she ought to stay here.... Besides, she has no money, no relatives, no friends in America——”
“All the more tragic. If you really believe it to be your duty to keep her here where you can look after her bodily safety, then the other obligation is still heavier. And there may come a day when Miss Norne will wish that you had been less conscientious concerning the safety of her pretty throat.... For the knife of the Yezidee is swifter and less cruel than the tongue that slays with a smile.... And this young girl has many years to live, after this business of Bolshevism is dead and forgotten in our Republic.”
“Recklow!”
“Yes?”
“You think I might dare try to find a room somewhere else for her and let her take her chances? Do you?”
“It’s your affair.”
“I know—hang it! I know it’s my affair. I’ve unintentionally made it so. But can’t you tell me what I ought to do?”
“I can’t.”
“What would you do?”
“Don’t ask me,” returned Recklow, sharply. “If you’re not man enough to come to a decision you may turn her over to me.”