No; it was
simply that the whole business of caring for Miss Esme Falconer had
suddenly devolved upon my shoulders; and that instead of my feeling
bored, or annoyed, or exasperated at the prospect, my spirits rose
inexplicably to face the need.
Here, if ever, was the time for the questions I had planned last
evening. But I didn't ask them; I knew I should never ask them. In those
few long unforgetable moments when I stood in the gallery and wondered
whether she were living, my point of view had altered. I was through
with suspecting her; I was prepared to laugh at evidence, however
damning. As for the men in the gray car and their detailed accusations,
I didn't give--well, a loud outcry in the infernal regions for them. I
knew the standards of the land they served, and I had seen their work
this morning. If they were French officers, I would do France a service
by going after them with a gun.
The girl had sunk down on the ancient bench beside me. Her eyes, wide
and distressed, yet resolute, went to my heart. Not a figure, I thought
again, for this atmosphere of intrigue and secrecy and danger.
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