She could scarcely believe what she was hearing – and she desperately wanted to believe him, that he had always had the best intentions, that he hadn’t had any choice in anything, but it didn’t make sense. And Noble had – promised her that Ford was a good person. He had said that, hadn’t he? Or that he tried to be. But then, what was stopping Ford from being honest? That night in the coatroom, or here and now. (If she had only been brave enough to ask before, and hadn’t just let herself be used... She might have been ruined still, but she would have spared herself all this.)
“I don’t understand... you’re still not going to tell me?” Jemima stammered, shaking her head and suddenly spilling over again with disbelief or bitter despair. He had wanted to talk, hadn’t he? But she was getting nowhere. She might as well be beating her head against a brick wall. Was this the bargain? What he thought was best? That he admitted nothing, and for his silence she just – kept hers?
Though she was trying to fend off the resurgence of any panic or hysteria from before, she didn’t quite manage to stifle the moan in her throat. “What did you do?”
“I don’t understand... you’re still not going to tell me?” Jemima stammered, shaking her head and suddenly spilling over again with disbelief or bitter despair. He had wanted to talk, hadn’t he? But she was getting nowhere. She might as well be beating her head against a brick wall. Was this the bargain? What he thought was best? That he admitted nothing, and for his silence she just – kept hers?
Though she was trying to fend off the resurgence of any panic or hysteria from before, she didn’t quite manage to stifle the moan in her throat. “What did you do?”
