He was not looking at her bare shoulders, at her
strong arms; he was looking down at the floor. He had lost one of his
straw slippers. A chair with a white dress on it had been overturned.
These, with splashes of water on the floor out of a brusquely misplaced
sponge-bath, were the only traces of the struggle.
Ricardo swallowed twice consciously, as if to make sure of his throat
before he spoke again:
"All right. I never meant to hurt you--though I am no joker when it
comes to it."
He pulled up the leg of his pyjamas to exhibit the strapped knife.
She glanced at it without moving her head, and murmured with scornful
bitterness:
"Ah, yes--with that thing stuck in my side. In no other way."
He shook his head with a shamefaced smile.
"Listen! I am quiet now. Straight--I am. I don't need to explain
why--you know how it is. And I can see, now, this wasn't the way with
you."
She made no sound. Her still, upward gaze had a patient, mournfulness
which troubled him like a suggestion of an inconceivable depth. He added
thoughtfully:
"You are not going to make a noise about this silly try of mine?"
She moved her head the least bit.
"Jee-miny! You are a wonder--" he murmured earnestly, relieved more than
she could have guessed.
Of course, if she had attempted to run out, he would have stuck the
knife between her shoulders, to stop her screaming; but all the fat
would have been in the fire, the business utterly spoiled, and the rage
of the governor--especially when he learned the cause--boundless.
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