days ago, things seemed queer. He'd taught me to fly; and this morning I followed him; I lost him; then I talked with you on the sea."
I longed for her in my arms again; I longed to try to quiet and comfort her; but the tumult of the trembling of that slight, lovely body was beyond me. She turned to me and cried, "What have we done?"
"You've done nothing wrong. Your father—I can't say."
"You know better than I. Harry's talked to you. He's been killing people in practice for what?"
"He has tremendous plans."
"With his airplanes, of course."
"Airplanes," I said. "And ton bombs of TNT."
She winced away from me; and her eyes, roving over the house and the lake, sought again the table on the terrace where the same four places remained empty.
"Where's father?" she repeated to me. "This morning, he must have found out something. When I was away. He couldn't tell it to me."
