Within something stirred, was silent, stirred again, with a movement as of garments. Out of the darkness, her voice came:
“Mr. Inger: ... It’s Lory Moor.”
III
For a moment he thought that this would be a part of his crazy dreaming, and he said nothing. But then he knew that she had risen and was standing before him; and he heard her breath, taken tremblingly. Her words came rushing—almost the first words that he had ever heard her say:
“You been down there. You know. I don’t know where to go. Oh—don’t tell ’em!”
“Tell ’em,” he muttered, stupidly. “Tell ’em?”
“I can’t do it,” she said gaspingly. “I can’t—I can’t.”
She was sobbing, and the Inger, so lately a flame of intent and desire, did not dare to touch her, and had no least idea what to say to her. In a moment she was able to speak again.