“How did you come here?”
Evidently, he could not remember.
“Take the glass, Annie,” she said.
Some one took the glass. In order to move him she freed her fingers from his, slipping her hand down his wrist. It was his left wrist, and she touched the metal there. “What ’s that?” His head came over on her bosom as she shifted him. “Annie!” She raised his hand. “Annie!”
Another voice said, in a whisper: “It ’s the police! It ’s a handcuff!”
The liquor had made him drowsy, and her breast was a soft pillow. In their horrified silence he rested weakly, his head swimming in pain. Somewhere he heard a muffled thumping. That was her heart.
The voices went on: “They ’ll be after ’m.” “Lock the door. Draw the curtains.” “Will yuh keep him—here!” “I—I don’t know.” Footsteps were busy about him.
She whispered, close: “What have you done? Boy?” When he did not answer, she
