'Yes,' she whispered. 'I know it … Because I know—I know—who did it.'
In that moment I felt that I knew too, and that Gideon knew, and that I ought to have guessed all along.
I said nothing, but waited for the girl's next word, if she had a next word to say. It wasn't for me to question her.
And then, quite suddenly, she gave a little moan of misery and broke into passionate tears.
I waited for a moment, then I got up and poured her out a glass of water. It must have been pretty bad for her. It must have been pretty bad all this time, I thought, knowing this thing about her sister.
She drank the water, and became quieter.
'Do you want to tell me any more?' I asked her, presently.
'Oh, I do, I do. But it's so difficult … I don't know how to tell you…. Oh, God … It was I that killed him!'
'Yes?' I said, after a moment, gently, and without apparent surprise. One learns in parish work not to start, however much one may be startled. I merely added a legitimate inquiry. 'Why was that?'
She gulped. 'I want to tell you everything. I want to.'