“Don’t apologize,” he said roughly. “What did he do to you? I’ll kill the bastard.”
“Oh, my dear, what didn’t he do! But never mind that. I don’t have to tell you about it, you can see for yourself what I have come to. I am ashamed. I had so fully intended to go down, if I had to go down, with flags up—denying, denying, denying—and here I am, not only confessed to murders, but confessed to murders I never committed. What irony, what bitter irony!”
“You confessed?” he cried softly, and taking her two arms in his two hands he drew her unresistingly forward into the room. He drew her to the light where he could see her face. “Nadia, tell me that is not true.”
“It is true. There comes a time in these affairs when it is easier to admit than to deny, or rather, when one becomes careless and callous of the consequences of guilt. Will someone stop that damned youngster breaking his heart out there! I _can’t_ tell him where his girl-friend is because I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,” she screamed; but the scream, from sheer exhaustion, scarcely rose above a whisper.
“Hush, dear! Don’t let him worry you. He has lost his head too dreadfully. And you mustn’t confess, you _mustn’t_, do you hear? Even if you killed the lot, don’t admit it—_ever_.”
“What else can I do? You have me on so many counts. There’s no use standing up against circumstantial evidence forever—even if it’s planted evidence, as this happens to be. I could never prove it. And the way I feel now the sooner things are over the better. I’m tired, tired out. I’m rapidly joining that Mrs. Crawford in her state of detachment and disenchantment. How beautifully she’s behaving now, not a trace of agony or hysteria; not because she’s thought it out, it isn’t philosophy with her, but because she’s died and remained alive. It leaves one with a jolly nonchalance. Well, short of one barb that persists in hurting me like Hell, I promise you I can go to the chair without a flicker.” His hands still held her and had unwittingly tightened on her arms. She looked down at them. “_You’re_ hurting me rather,” she said gently.
“I’m sorry.” He relaxed his hold but did not release her. “Tell me, what is the pain?” He knew, but he wanted to hear. They both trembled.