uld not
prove the use he made of his time ever since seven o'clock, for he had
been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this savage woman
who had brought him in there, and would probably saddle him with
complicity, at least if he were not careful. He was terrified at the
rapidity with which he had been involved in such dangers--decoyed into
it. It was some twenty minutes since he had met her--not more.

The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: "Don't let them
hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I'll work for you. I'll
slave for you. I'll love you. I've no one in the world. . . . Who
would look at me if you don't!" She ceased for a moment; then in the
depths of the loneliness made round her by an insignificant thread of
blood trickling off the handle of a knife, she found a dreadful
inspiration to her--who had been the respectable girl of the Belgravian
mansion, the loyal, respectable wife of Mr Verloc. "I won't ask you to
marry me," she breathed out in shame-faced accents.

She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified at her. He
would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced another knife
destined for his breast. He certainly would have made no resistance. He
had really not enough fortitude in him just then to tell her to keep
back. But he inquired in a cavernous, strange tone: "Was he asleep?"

"No," she cried, and went on rapidly. "He wasn't. Not he. He had been
telling me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy away from
under my very eyes to kill him--the loving, innocent, harmless lad. My
own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite easy--after killing the
boy--my boy. I would have gone on the streets to get out of his sight.
And he says to me like this: 'Come here,' after telling me I had helped
to kill the boy. You hear, Tom? He says like this: 'Come here,' after
taking my very heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt."

She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: "Blood and dirt. Blood and
dirt." A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was that
half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. And the fooling of
everybody all round appeared more complete than ever--colossal. He
exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: "The
degenerate--by heavens!"

"Come here." The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. "What did he think I
was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come here! Me