"She told me something. I want your version of the story."
As if realizing the futility, both of protest and evasion, the woman let her gaze travel to the dim purple line where sea met sky and began to speak.
She related the incident tersely; without comment; and in a dull, impersonal manner.
Stanley Heath, scrutinizing her with keen, appraising eyes, could not but note the pallor of her cheeks, the unsteadiness of her lips, the nervous clasping and unclasping of her hands.
The narrative concluded, her glance dropped to the floor and silence fell between them.
"And that is all?" he inquired when convinced she had no intention of speaking further.
"That is all."
"Thank you. Now what had I better do?"
She made no answer.
"What do you think it best for me to do?" he repeated.