"That doesn't matter at all," I assured her civilly through clenched
teeth.
She came closer--so close that her fur coat brushed me, and her breath
touched my cheek; her eyes, like gray stars now that they were less
anxious, went to my head a little, I suppose. Oh, yes, she was lovely.
Of course that was a factor. If she had been past her first youth and
skimpy as to hair, and dowdy, I don't pretend that I should ever have
mixed myself up in the preposterous coil.
"This paper," she whispered, holding out the sheet, "has something in
it. It is not about me; it is not even true. But if it stays aboard
the ship,--if some one sees it, it may make trouble. Oh, you see how it
sounds; I knew you would think me mad!"
"Not in the least." What an absurd rigmarole she was uttering! Yet such
was the spell of her eyes, her voice, her nearness that I merely felt
like saying, "Tell me some more."
"I can't destroy it myself," she went on anxiously. "He--they--mustn't
see me do anything that might lead them to--to guess. But no one will
think of you, nobody will be watching you; so by and by will you weight
the paper with something heavy and drop it across the rail?"
My head was whirling, but a graven image might have envied me my
impassivity.
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