He seemed to want to say more, and was at a loss how to say it.
Finally he stuck his pipe back into his mouth with a savage thrust and
lumbered heavily from the room.
Nan understood. She knew he was laboring under profound emotion, and a
feeling of self-disgust at his own inability to help his partner and
friend.
As the door closed she moved over to the table and leaned against it.
Jeff's back was toward her, and his face was turned in the direction of
the window, across which the curtains had not yet been drawn.
He was leaning forward, his gaze intent and straight ahead out into the
black night beyond. His elbows were on his knees, and his hands were
clasped, and hanging between them. To the sympathetic heart of Nan
there was despair in every line of his attitude. She nerved herself to
carry out her decisions.
"Jeff!"
There was no movement in response. But a reply came. It was in the
tone of a man indifferent to everything but the thought teeming through
his brain.
"Well?"
"Why did you come around here--to-night?"
The question achieved its purpose.
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