"I am going." He offered to open the door for her, but she opened it herself, stood motionless, turned, considered him, head high and eyes steady; "You have killed in me, this night--this Christmas night--something that can never again l-live in me.

Remember that in the years to come." "I'm sorry," he said.

"That's the second murder I've attempted.
The other was your soul." Her eyes flashed.
"Even murderers show some remorse--some regret----" "I do regret," he said deliberately, "that I didn't kill it.

.

.