It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. Hill was seated. That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic. He could not tell whether she was English or American. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. "If you'll tell me where to look for these things, and I do find them, I'll set you free. .
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