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The boy's soul was more important than his body. He
wanted him safe. God, how he wanted him safe! But he wanted him
to be a man.
Natalie's room was dark when he went in. He hesitated. Then he
heard her in bed, sobbing quietly. He was angry at himself for his
impatience at the sound. He stood beside the bed, and forced a
gentleness he did not feel.
"Can I get you anything?" he asked.
"No, thank you." And he moved toward the lamp. "Don't turn the
light on. I look dreadful."
"Shall I ring for Madeleine?"
"No. Graham is bringing me a sleeping-powder."
"If you are not sleepy, may I talk to you about some things?"
"I'm sick, Clay. My head is bursting."
"Sometimes it helps to talk out our worries, dear." He was still
determinedly gentle.
He heard her turning her pillow, and settling herself more
comfortably.
"Not to you. You've made up your mind. What's the use?"
"Made up my mind to what?"
"To sending Graham to be killed."
"That's hardly worthy of you, Natalie," he said gravely.


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