The book she had been reading slipped with a thump on the floor.
"How is it possible that you should be here?" she said, still in a
doubting voice.
"I am really here," I said. "Would you like to touch my hand?"
She didn't move at all; her fingers still clutched the fur coat.
"What has happened?"
"It's a long story, but you may take it from me that all is over.
The tie between us is broken. I don't know that it was ever very
close. It was an external thing. The true misfortune is that I
have ever seen you."
This last phrase was provoked by an exclamation of sympathy on her
part. She raised herself on her elbow and looked at me intently.
"All over," she murmured.
"Yes, we had to wreck the little vessel. It was awful. I feel
like a murderer. But she had to be killed."
"Why?"
"Because I loved her too much. Don't you know that love and death
go very close together?"
"I could feel almost happy that it is all over, if you hadn't had
to lose your love. Oh, amigo George, it was a safe love for you."
"Yes," I said. "It was a faithful little vessel. She would have
saved us all from any plain danger. But this was a betrayal. It
was--never mind. All that's past.
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