"
"What truth do you mean? The truth of how Samoval came by his
death?"
"Oh, no. That matter is quite clear, the evidence complete. I
mean - oh, I will tell you afterwards what I mean. It may help
you to bear your trouble, thankfully."
She approached him again. "Won't you tell me now?" she begged him.
"No," he answered, rising, and speaking with finality. "Afterwards
if necessary, afterwards. And now get back to bed, child, and
forget the fellow. I swear to you that he isn't worth a thought.
Later I shall hope to prove it to you."
"That you never will," she told him fiercely.
He laughed, and again his laugh was harsh and terrible in its bitter
mockery. "Yet another trusting fool," he cried. "The world is full
of them - it is made up of them, with just a sprinkling of knaves to
batten on their folly. Go to bed, Sylvia, and pray for understanding
of men. It is a possession beyond riches."
"I think you are more in need of it than I am," she told him, standing
by the door.
"Of course you do. You trust, which is why you are a fool. Trust,"
he said, speaking the very language of Polichinelle, "is the livery
of fools."
She went without answering him and toiled upstairs with dragging
feet.
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