Book II
31. Chapter XXXI.
(continued)
"Of my coming to Washington."
She looked down at her muff, and he saw her hands
stir in it uneasily.
"Well--?"
"Well--yes," she said.
"You WERE afraid? You knew--?"
"Yes: I knew . . ."
"Well, then?" he insisted.
"Well, then: this is better, isn't it?" she returned with
a long questioning sigh.
"Better--?"
"We shall hurt others less. Isn't it, after all, what you
always wanted?"
"To have you here, you mean--in reach and yet out
of reach? To meet you in this way, on the sly? It's the
very reverse of what I want. I told you the other day
what I wanted."
She hesitated. "And you still think this--worse?"
"A thousand times!" He paused. "It would be easy
to lie to you; but the truth is I think it detestable."
"Oh, so do I!" she cried with a deep breath of relief.
He sprang up impatiently. "Well, then--it's my turn
to ask: what is it, in God's name, that you think
better?"
She hung her head and continued to clasp and unclasp
her hands in her muff. The step drew nearer, and
a guardian in a braided cap walked listlessly through
the room like a ghost stalking through a necropolis.
They fixed their eyes simultaneously on the case opposite
them, and when the official figure had vanished
down a vista of mummies and sarcophagi Archer spoke
again.
"What do you think better?"
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