Perceval Gibbon

“ No sooner were they in the gloomy alley outside than the neighbourhood of others was known to them. There was a sound of many feet plowing in the mud, and a suppressed voice gave a short order. The woman stopped and caught Dawson's arm.
"Hush!" she whispered. "It is the police. They have come for the men. They will be on both sides of us. Wait and listen."
Dawson stood rigid, his heart thumping. The darkness seemed to surge around him with menaces and dangers. The splashing feet were nearer, coming up on their right, and once some metal gear clinked as its wearer scraped against the wall. ”

“ She raised her face to his.
"It was splendid," she said. "With only the bare hands to take an armed man——"
"Armed!" repeated Dawson.
"Surely," she answered. "That, at least, is always sure. See," she pulled the man's sheet wide. Girt into a loin-cloth below was an ugly, broad blade. "Yes, it was magnificent. You are a man, my friend."
"And you," he said, thrilled by her adulation and the proximity of her bare, gleaming bosom, "are a woman."
"Then," she began spiritedly; but in a heat of cordial impulse he took her to him and kissed her hotly on the lips. ”

“ She tried to bring them, it seemed, to accept it as inevitable, as a thing properly attendant on them; to show that she, after all, could not change the conditions of existence.
"You stabbed the Greek," she argued once, turning sharply on the tall man.
"Well," he began, and she flourished her hand as an ergo.
"Life is not spending money," she even philosophised. "One pays for living, my friend, with work, with pain, with jail. Here you have to pay. I have paid for you, seven months nearly, with smiles and love. But the price is risen. It is your turn now."
Dawson gazed at her fascinated. ”

“ Once he stepped aside to let a woman pass. She was large, flamboyantly southern and calm. She lounged along, a cloak over her left arm, her head thrown back, a cigarette between her wide, red lips. She, too, looked at Dawson—looked down at him with a superb lazy nonchalance, laughed a little, and walked on. The loungers on the sidewalk laughed, too, but rather with her than at Dawson.
"I seem rather out of it here," he told himself patiently, and was glad to enter the wide portals of Lazarus' Hotel. ”

“ The rain had passed, and the frosty stars of Mozambique shone faintly. He took a deep breath as he received the image from the hands of the woman.
"You hear them?" she said, and he listened with a shudder to the passing of the men below.
"But we must go on," she said. "We are not safe yet. Over the wall to the next roof. Come!"
They clambered over a low parapet, and dropped six feet to another level. Dawson helped the woman up the opposite wall, and she sat reconnoitering on the top. ”

“ She led him swiftly away from the place, having waited till the police should be so near that the noise of their advance would drown their own retreat.
On they went, then, as before, swishing through the foulness underfoot, and without speaking. Only at times the woman's held on his hand would tighten, and, meeting with no response, would slacken again, and she would draw him on ever more quickly. ”

“ Dawson laid his shoulder to it, his arms folded, and shoved desperately till his head buzzed. As he eased up he heard the near feet of the menacing police again.
"You must push it in!" cried the woman. "It is the only way. If not——"
"Here, catch hold of this," said Dawson, and she found the bronze image in her hands. "Let me come," he said, and standing back a little, he flung his twelve stone of bone and muscle heavily on the door. ”

“ The woman stood over him, the knife still in her hand, looking at Dawson with a smile.
"My God!" he said as he glanced about him. The tall man was lying at his feet, huddled hideously on the floor. The room stank of violence and passion. "My God!" and he stooped to the body.
The woman touched him on the shoulder. "Come," she said. "It's no good. It was a grand blow, a king's blow. You cannot help him."
"But—but—" he flustered as he rose. The emergency was beyond him. He had only half a strong man's equipment—the mere brawn. "Two men killed. ”

“ The police! To mention them was to touch all that was conventional, suburban, and second-class in Dawson. He itched to be gone. A picture of Vine Street police-court and a curtly aloof magistrate flashed across his mind, and a reminiscence of evening paper headlines, and his mind fermented hysterically.
The woman put back her knife in some secret recess of her clothes, and opened the door cautiously. "Now!" she said, but paused, and came back. She went to the picture of the Virgin and turned its face to the wall. "One should not forget respect," she observed, apologetically. ”

“ She turned swiftly on him, poising her small head over her bare breasts with a superb scorn.
"Why do you lie?" she demanded hotly. "Why do you lie? Must you hide even from your own blame behind my skirts? ”