He seemed on the verge of
a furious outburst. But the steady light of Nan's eyes was upon him.
For some moments he gazed into their sweet depths, and their courage,
their steadfastness, seemed to abash him. He flung out his arms in a
helpless gesture of appeal.
"Nan, Nan!" he cried, in a voice of hopelessness. "I can't argue it.
I just can't. I can't see things right. I sure nearly am crazed. The
only thing I can see is the blood of poor Ronny on her--her hands. The
hands I've held in mine. The hands I've kissed. Oh, was there ever so
foul----"
"Yes, Jeff, there was. There is."
Nan's voice was low but thrilling with deep feeling. She moved forward
from her place at the table with a little rush. The rustle of her
skirts only ceased as she fell upon her knees at the man's side, and
her warm brown hands clasped themselves upon the strong arm propped
upon his knee.
"It's a far, far fouler thing, this thing you've got fixed in your mind
to do. Oh, Jeff, dear, if I could speak the things as I feel them.
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