"
"But . . ." she began, wondering.
"There are no buts about it. Suppose I can get him convicted, which I
doubt; he'd get a light sentence, would appeal, at most would be out of
the way a couple of years or so. And then it would all be to do over
again. No; I want him out in the open, where he can go as far as he
wants to go. And then . . ."
She saw how his body stiffened as he braced himself with his feet
against the foot-board.
"We won't talk shop," she said gently. "It isn't good for you. Don't
think about such things any more than you have to."
"I've got to think about something," he said impatiently. "Can I think
about you?"
"Why not?" she answered as lightly as she had spoken before.
"Maybe that isn't good for me either," he answered.
"Nonsense. It's always good for us to think about our friends."
His eyes wandered from hers, rested a moment upon the little table near
his bedhead and came back to her, narrowing a little.
"Will you set a chair against that window-shade?" he asked. "The light
at the side hurts my eyes."
It was a natural request and she turned naturally to do what he asked.
But, even with her back turned, she knew that he had reached out
swiftly for something that lay on the table, that he had thrust it out
of sight under his pillow.
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