But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building. I’d rather not go,” she added. “Reuben, come here. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. . ” “Are you afraid?” “Only for you! Most of my income will vanish.
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