“Gabriel,” she said again, almost in a whisper.
“Ah, do not look at me like this.”
“What is it—tell me?”
“The worst.”
“Ah no, not that!”
He threw up his arm with a gesture of anguish and covered his face.
“My God, how can I tell you the truth!”
Joan caught him by the wrists, drew down his hand, stared in his face, one deep, tragic look. The man’s eyes shirked hers. His lips were quivering like the lips of one in peril of tears.
Joan drew a sudden, deep breath, loosed her hold, and stood back from him with her hands pressed over her heart.
“Gabriel.”