Mechanically she fell into his stride and they
moved swiftly up the street. A clock in a house across the way banged
out the hour. Far away, in the neighborhood of Broadway, a raucous-
voiced newsboy was crying his "extra." They knew that he was shouting:
"All about the murder!" in that unintelligible jargon of the night.
"We will get it all in the morning papers," she said.
"I hope they don't try to connect me with it--Mary, I'm afraid of
that! You'd better let me get out of town to-night."
She shook her head.
He walked with his eyes set straight ahead, trying to understand,
trying to get control of his new emotions. Always there was the sharp,
ugly little notion that she still despised him, that she was
sacrificing herself that he might be drawn as far away as possible
from the child she was so anxious to shield.
"I'm going to try my best to make you care for me again," he said, a
vast hunger for sympathy and love taking possession of him.
"I hope you may, Tom," she said drearily.
"You're doing this for Christine," he said resentfully. "Just to get
me away, so's I can't trouble her.
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