Oliver crept over to him.
"Ted, listen--oh listen, damn you! What's the use of acting the chivalrous
fool, _now_? Don't you see? Don't you understand? Don't you get it that if
you leave she can explain it some way or other--that all you're doing by
staying is ruining yourself and Elinor for a point of honor that hasn't any
honor _to_ it?"
"Oh sure. Sure. But listen to him--why great God, Ollie, if he has a gun he
might kill her--probably will--Don't you see it's just because I hate the
whole business now--and her--and myself--th'at I've got to stick it out?
You go, Ollie, it's none of your business--"
"You go. You blessed idiot, there's no use of both of us smashing. If
anybody's got to stay--I can bluff it out a good deal better than you can
--trust me--"
"Oh rats. Not that it isn't very decent of you, Ollie, it is--and you'd do
it--but I wouldn't even be a _person_ to let you--"
They were both on their feet, talking in jerks, ears strained for every
sound from that other room.
"It's _perfectly_ simple--nobody's going to pull any gunplay--good Lord,
imagine poor old Mr.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234