Probably he is waiting to go outside
now to 'shadow' me. He may wait till--! And how did you get out?"
"They let me down from a window at the back of the house. I got on to
the quay and came here by the long way and through the Rambla." There
was a pause, and then she said in the same mechanical voice, "Sobrenski
said I was to tell you not to come. It isn't safe."
Emile did not answer. He could see that she was trembling violently
and on the verge of an hysterical crisis. He rather hoped she would
break down. It would seem more natural. Women were privileged to cry
and scream, not that it was possible to imagine her screaming. He
dragged forward a chair from the immaculate row against the wall.
As he did so he noticed that she kept her left hand behind her back as
if to conceal something.
"Sit down," he ordered. "What's the matter with your hand? Are you
hurt?"
The girl retreated before him.
"No!" she answered defiantly.
But Emile's quick eyes had seen a crumpled handkerchief flecked with
red stains.
"Don't tell lies, Fatalite!" he said sharply.
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