it. Its meticulous adeptness with pen and brush would be forever lost. All that Paul Lambert had ever taught her belonged to another world.
Then a fury of activity seized him. He remembered running to the next room and catching up a folded towel and tearing it into strips. He remembered hearing many steps and voices in the passageway outside and much pounding and knocking on the door. He remembered telling her that they could get down to a cab and be at the Ospedale Internazionale in ten minutes' time. He remembered the convulsive shaking of her body as she surrendered her hand to his "first-aid" bandaging, and his clumsy efforts to reassure her that everything would be all right, and her renewed shudder as Watchel groaned aloud where he lay.
"Don't be frightened," Kestner said as he tied the ends of the roughly-made bandage.
"I'm not frightened—for myself," she quavered as she stared down at the inert figure on the floor.
"Then don't worry about that ox," was the other's quick cry of contempt. "Nothing but a rope will end him!"
Kestner steadied her as she rose to her feet. A sob caught in her throat as she leaned on his arm.
"Do you know what this means?" she tremulously asked. She was still staring apprehensively down at Watchel's groaning figure.
"It means the end of this sort of thing," declared Kestner. "It means you must come with me, and there can be no going back!"
She stared down at her roughly bandaged hand as Kestner crossed the room and unlocked the door.
