Adderley's reply was characteristically brutal.
“Get out,” he said. “You fool.”
I turned to go, for I was conscious of an intense desire to attack my host. But:
“Don't go, Knox, don't go!” he cried. “I am sorry, I am damned sorry, I———”
He paused, and looked at me in a queer sort of appealing way. The girl, her big eyes widely open, retreated again to the door, with curious lithe steps, characteristically Oriental. The door regained, she paused for a moment and extended one small hand in Adderley's direction.
“I hate you,” she said slowly, “hate you! Hate you!”
She went out, quietly closing the door behind her. Adderley turned to me with an embarrassed laugh.
“I know you think I am a brute and an outsider,” he said, “and perhaps I am. Everybody says I am, so I suppose there must be something in it. But if ever a man paid for his mistakes I have paid for mine, Knox. Good God, I haven't a friend in the world.”
“You probably don't deserve one,” I retorted.
“I know I don't, and that's the tragedy of it,” he replied. “You may not believe it, Knox; I don't expect anybody to believe me; but for more than a year I have been walking on the edge of Hell. Do you know where I have been since I saw you last?”