And the clear pallor of her skin, and
the slender yet voluptuous lines of her form suggested a pale,
beautiful rose, most delicate of flowers yet about the hardiest.
"So--you've married and settled down?"
"No," replied Susan. "Neither the one nor the other."
"Why, you told----"
"I'm supposed to be a married woman."
"Why didn't you give your name and address at the police
station?" said he. "They'd have let you go at once."
"Yes, I know," replied she. "But the newspapers would
probably have published it. So--I couldn't. As it is I've
been worrying for fear I'd be recognized, and the man would
get a write-up."
"That was square," said he. "Yes, it'd have been a dirty
trick to drag him in."
It was the matter-of-course to both of them that she should
have protected her "friend." She had simply obeyed about the
most stringent and least often violated article in the moral
code of the world of outcasts. If Freddie's worst enemy in
that world had murdered him, Freddie would have used his last
breath in shielding him from the common foe, the law.
"If you're not married to him, you're free," said Freddie with
a sudden new kind of interest in her.
"I told you I should always be free."
They remained facing each other a moment. When she moved to
go, he said:
"I see you've still got your taste in dress--only more so."
She smiled faintly, glanced at his clothing.
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