No answer. Joh Fredersen continued:
“Rotwang cannot help you.”
“Why not—”
“He is dead.”
Silence. Then, tentatively, a strangled voice which asked:
“Dead...?”
“Yes.”
“How did he come ... so suddenly ... to die?”
“He died, chiefly, Freder, because he dared to stretch out his hands toward the girl whom you love.”
Trembling fingers fumbled up the stem of the cross.