I said. “What, Bill?” Her voice was muffled. “How long have you known what these gorillas are after?” She turned slowly on her back and looked up at me. The gray eyes were dry now, but they were washed out and dead. “Since three o’clock this afternoon,” she said. I sighed, and felt suddenly weak with relief or joy, or both. I’d been right. All the cancerous growth of bitterness was gone and I wanted to kneel beside the bunk and take her in my arms. Instead I lit a cigarette and put it between her fingers. “I want to apologize,” I said. Her head moved almost imperceptibly. “Don’t. I sold you out, Bill.” “No,” I whispered. “You didn’t know. I thought you had lied, but you hadn’t. It doesn’t matter that he was lying to you.” “Don’t make it any worse, Bill. Don’t you see? I still betrayed you. I had six hours to call you, and you could have got away. I tried to, but I couldn’t. I thought I owed him that, in spite of what he did. Maybe I was wrong, but I think I’d still do it the same way.
