"It's true. Oh, it's true; it's true!"
She wrenched from me, fought off my hands again and stared past me down at the terrace and the table which Bane and she and I had deserted. Another place was empty; four altogether, I counted. The fourth was her father's.
"Father," she said, strangely whispering. "Where's he gone?"
"I don't know."
"Father," she repeated and again said, "father," before she succeeded in telling me, "father was that politician."
"What politician?"
"For whom the governor did the favor."
"What?"
"That's it, I tell you. That man—that murderer—once delivered votes for father; so the governor freed him. He killed again; and father supported the governor for re-election, too."
We stood silent, side by side, in the little wood. Silence with its trivial sounds, is what I remember for that moment when my mind tried to take in, all at once, what she had told
