Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. The evenings were dulcet and soft. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms. ’ ‘You can arrest me,’ answered Kimble belligerently, ‘but you can’t make me say nothing about her.
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