``What did they tell you?'' he said, after a long pause,
remembering that he had denied before a charge had been made.

She was looking away from him now. She seemed not to have
heard him. ``I must go,'' she murmured, and began slowly to
descend the stoop.

He followed her, laid his hand upon her arm. ``Hilda!'' he
pleaded. ``Let me explain!''

``Don't touch me!'' She snatched her arm away from him. She ran
down the rest of the steps and fled along the street. She kept
close to the shadow of the houses. She went through Avenue A
with hanging head, feeling that the eyes of all were upon her,
condemning, scorning. She hid herself in her little room,
locking the door. Down beside the bed she sank and buried her
face in the covers. And there she lay, racked with the pain of
her gaping wounds--wounds to love, to trust, to pride, to
self-respect. ``Oh, God, let me die,'' she moaned. ``I can't
ever look anybody in the face again.''



VIII

A SHEEP WIELDS THE SHEARS

A few days later Peter Ganser appeared before Beck, triumph
flaunting from his stupid features. Beck instantly scented bad
news.