It is something worse than that. I had a
friend once," said Sharlee, muff to her lips, and her level eyes, upon
him, "and he was not worthy."
To follow out that thought was impossible, but Queed felt very sorry for
West when he saw how she said it.
"I'm sorry that you should have had this--to distress you. However--"
"Isn't it rather late to think of that now? As to saying it--I should
have thought that you would tell me of your sorrow immediately--or not
at all."
A long look passed between them. Down the corridor, on both sides of
them, flowed a stream of people bent upon mails; but these two were
alone in the world.
"Have you seen West?" asked Queed, in a voice unlike his own.
She made a little movement of irrepressible distaste.
"Yes.... But you must not think that he told me. He is too kind, too
honorable to betray his friend."
He stared at her, reft of the power of speech.
From under the wide hat, the blue eyes seemed to leap out and stab him;
they lingered, turning the knife, while their owner appeared to be
waiting for him to speak; and then with a final twist, they were pulled
away, and Queed found himself alone in the corridor.
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