Jack, I hate myself for it, but I can't help it.
I'm afraid of McGurk, afraid of that damned white face, that lowered,
fluttering eyelid, that sneering mouth. Without the cross to bring me
luck, how could I meet him? But while I keep the cross there's ruin
and hell without end for everyone with me."
She was white and shaking. She said: "I'm not afraid. I've one friend
left; there's nothing else to care for."
"So it's to be this way, Jack?"
"This way, and no other."
"Partner, I'm glad. My God, Jack, what a man you would have made!"
Their hands met and clung together, and her head had drooped, perhaps
in acquiescence.
CHAPTER 25
Dick Wilbur, telling Mary how Pierre had cut himself adrift, did not
even pretend to sorrow, and she listened to him with her eyes fixed
steadily on his own. As a matter of fact, she had shown neither hope
nor excitement from the moment he came back to her and started to tell
his message. But if she showed neither hope nor excitement for
herself, surely she gave Dick still fewer grounds for any optimistic
foresights.
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