You'll not tell that I tipped you off?"
"You'd not have told me if you hadn't known I wouldn't.""That's so.But--why don't you make it up with Freddie?""I couldn't do that."
"He's dead in love.I'm sure you could."
Again Susan's eyes became strange."I'm sure I couldn't.Good night." She got as far as the door, came back."Thank you for telling me.""Oh, that's all right," murmured the girl.She was embarrassed by Susan's manner.She was frightened by Susan's eyes."You ain't going to----" There she halted.
"What?"
"To jump off? Kill yourself?"
"Hardly," said Susan."I've got a lot to do before I die."She went directly home.Palmer was lying on the bed, a cigarette between his lips, a newspaper under his feet to prevent his boots from spoiling the spread--one of the many small indications of the prudence, thrift and calculation that underlay the almost insane recklessness of his surface character, and that would save him from living as the fool lives and dying as the fool dies.
"I thought you wouldn't slop round in these streets long," said he, as she paused upon the threshold."So I waited."She went to the bureau, unlocked the top drawer, took the ten-dollar bill she had under some undershirts there, put it in her right stocking where there were already a five and a two.
She locked the drawer, tossed the key into an open box of hairpins.She moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?" asked he, still staring at the ceiling.
"Out.I've made almost nothing this week."
"Sit down.I want to talk to you."
She hesitated, seated herself on a chair near the bed.
He frowned at her."You've been drinking?"
"Yes."
"I've been drinking myself, but I've got a nose like a hunting dog.What do you do it for?""What's the use of explaining? You'd not understand.""Perhaps I would.I'm one-fourth Italian--and they understand everything....You're fond of reading, aren't you?""It passes the time."
"While I was waiting for you I glanced at your new books--Emerson--Dickens--Zola." He was looking toward the row of paper backs that filled almost the whole length of the mantel.
"I must read them.I always like your books.You spend nearly as much time reading as I do--and you don't need it, for you've got a good education.What do you read for? To amuse yourself?""No."
"To get away from yourself?"
"No."
"Then why?" persisted he.
"To find out about myself."
He thought a moment, turned his face toward her."You _are_clever!" he said admiringly."What's your game?""My game?"
"What are you aiming for? You've got too much sense not to be aiming for something."She looked at him; the expression that marked her as a person peculiar and apart was glowing in her eyes like a bed of red-hot coals covered with ashes.
"What?" he repeated.
"To get strong," replied she."Women are born weak and bred weaker.I've got to get over being a woman.For there isn't any place in this world for a woman except under the shelter of some man.And I don't want that." The underlying strength of her features abruptly came into view."And I won't have it,"she added.
He laughed."But the men'll never let _you_ be anything but a woman.""We'll see," said she, smiling.The strong look had vanished into the soft contour of her beautiful youth.
"Personally, I like you better when you've been drinking," he went on."You're sad when you're sober.As you drink you liven up.""When I get over being sad if I'm sober, when I learn to take things as they come, just like a man--a strong man, then I'll be----" She stopped.
"Be what?"
"Ready."
"Ready for what?"
"How do I know?"
He swung himself to a sitting position."Meanwhile, you're coming to live with me.I've been fighting against it, but Igive up.I need you.You're the one I've been looking for.
Pack your traps.I'll call a cab and we'll go over to my flat.
Then we'll go to Rector's and celebrate."
She shook her head."I'm sorry, but I can't.""Why not?"
"I told you.There's something in me that won't let me."He rose, walked to her very deliberately.He took one of her hands from her lap, drew her to her feet, put his hands strongly on her shoulders."You belong to me," he said, his lips smiling charmingly, but the devil in the gleam of his eyes and in the glistening of his beautiful, cruel teeth."Pack up.""You know that I won't."
He slowly crushed her in his arms, slowly pressed his lips upon hers.A low scream issued from her lips and she seized him by the throat with both hands, one hand over the other, and thrust him backward.He reeled, fell upon his back on the bed; she fell with him, clung to him--like a bull dog--not as if she would not, but as if she could not, let go.He clutched at her fingers; failing to dislodge them, he tried to thrust his thumbs into her eyes.But she seized his right thumb between her teeth and bit into it until they almost met.And at the same time her knees ground into his abdomen.He choked, gurgled, grew dark red, then gray, then a faint blackish blue, lay limp under her.But she did not relax until the blue of his face had deepened to black and his eyes began to bulge from their sockets.At those signs that he was beyond doubt unconscious, she cautiously relaxed her fingers.She unclenched her teeth; his arm, which had been held up by the thumb she was biting, dropped heavily.She stood over him, her eyes blazing insanely at him.She snatched out her hatpin, flung his coat and waistcoat from over his chest, felt for his heart.With the murderous eight inches of that slender steel poniard poised for the drive, she began to sob, flung the weapon away, took his face between her hands and kissed him.
"You fiend! You fiend!" she sobbed.
She changed to her plainest dress.Leaving the blood-stained blouse on the bed beside him where she had flung it down after tearing it off, she turned out the light, darted down stairs and into the street.At Times Square she took the Subway for the Bowery.To change one's world, one need not travel far in New York; the ocean is not so wide as is the gap between the Tenderloin and the lower East Side.
