Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's face;
and instantly he saw that it was true. No one could have simulated the
look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they would never again
get on terms with the face to which they belonged. To see them squeezed
the heart-only real misery could look like that. Then that sudden pity
became angry bewilderment.

"What in God's name is this nonsense?"

But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the
door, too, to see if it were shut. Laurence had drawn his chair forward,
huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high-cheekboned face with
deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, a face that still had a
certain beauty. Putting a hand on that lean shoulder, Keith said:

"Come, Larry! Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration."

"It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man."

The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche. What was the
fellow about--shouting out such words! But suddenly Laurence lifted his
hands and wrung them. The gesture was so utterly painful that it drew a
quiver from Keith's face.

"Why did you come here," he said, "and tell me this?"

Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams passed
up on to it!