He pulled his
crumpled hat from his pocket and fumbled it for a few moments. She sat
there, looking at him, her lips parted.
"Well," he began, "I guess I'd better be going."
"Going? Where are you going?" she demanded, suddenly alert.
"Oh, out somewhere. I've got ten or twelve hours to kill."
She struggled to her feet.
"Tom, you are not going to leave this house until to-night."
He drew back, amazed.
"What?"
"I am going down to the river with you."
Comprehension was slow in filtering into his brain. A ghastly pallor
spread over his face.
"What did you say?"
"I am going to the river with you. But you must stay here until to-
night. You are not to go out into the streets. Do you understand?"
"You can't mean that--Why, you must be crazy. You? Why--why, I'm doing
it so that you can _live_. You can't mean what you're thinking of--" He
could not complete the sentence. A heavy sweat broke out on his
forehead.
She forced a miserable smile to her lips. "You do not understand me,
Tom. I am going down to the river with you, but I am coming back
alone."
He slowly grasped the meaning of it.
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