“Why, Clare! I didn’t know. Forgive me. I feel like seven beasts. It was stupid of me not to realize.” “No. Not at all. You couldn’t. Nobody, none of you, could,” Clare moaned. The black eyes filled with tears that ran down her cheeks and spilled into her lap, ruining the priceless velvet of her dress. Her long hands were a little uplifted and clasped tightly together. Her effort to speak moderately was obvious, but not successful. “How could you know? How could you? You’re free. You’re happy. And,” with faint derision, “safe.” Irene passed over that touch of derision, for the poignant
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