[Keith steps quickly forward and stares down into his brother’s
     eyes, where is a horrified wonder, as if they would never again
     get on terms with his face.]

Keith. [Angry, bewildered-in a low voice] What in God’s name is this nonsense?

     [He goes quickly over to the door and draws the curtain aside, to
     see that it is shut, then comes back to Larry, who is huddling
     over the fire.]

Come, Larry!  Pull yourself together and drop exaggeration!  What on earth do you mean?

Larry. [In a shrill outburst] It’s true, I tell you; I’ve killed a man.

Keith. [Bracing himself; coldly] Be quiet!

     Larry lifts his hands and wrings them.

[Utterly taken aback] Why come here and tell me this?

Larry.  Whom should I tell, Keith?  I came to ask what I’m to do—­ give myself up, or what?

Keith.  When—­when—­what——?

Larry.  Last night.

Keith.  Good God!  How?  Where?  You’d better tell me quietly from the beginning.  Here, drink this coffee; it’ll clear your head.

     He pours out and hands him a cup of coffee.  Larry drinks it
     off.

Larry.  My head!  Yes!  It’s like this, Keith—­there’s a girl——­

Keith.  Women!  Always women, with you!  Well?

Larry.  A Polish girl.  She—­her father died over here when she was sixteen, and left her all alone.  There was a mongrel living in the same house who married her—­or pretended to.  She’s very pretty, Keith.  He left her with a baby coming.  She lost it, and nearly starved.  Then another fellow took her on, and she lived with him two years, till that brute turned up again and made her go back to him.  He used to beat her black and blue.  He’d left her again when—­I met her.  She was taking anybody then. [He stops, passes his hand over his lips, looks up at Keith, and goes on defiantly] I never met a sweeter woman, or a truer, that I swear.  Woman!  She’s only twenty now!  When I went to her last night, that devil had found her out again.  He came for me—­a bullying, great, hulking brute.  Look! [He touches a dark mark on his forehead] I took his ugly throat, and when I let go—­[He stops and his hands drop.]

Keith.  Yes?

Larry. [In a smothered voice] Dead, Keith.  I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him—­to h-help me. [Again he wrings his hands.]

Keith. [In a hard, dry voice] What did you do then?

Larry.  We—­we sat by it a long time.

Keith.  Well?

Larry.  Then I carried it on my back down the street, round a corner, to an archway.

Keith.  How far?

Larry.  About fifty yards.