But Darrell averted his head. He became a little more personal and intimate. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. You look like a movie star. If ever I could bring myself to ask you any favour, I would ask you to forget even as I have forgotten. Not a star could be discerned, but, in their stead, streaks of lurid radiance, whence proceeding it was impossible to determine, shot ever and anon athwart the dusky vault, and added to the ominous and threatening appearance of the night. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do.
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