Laura half fainted and it was some minutes before Jack could bring her around. Terry sat on the floor by the sofa, watching her with interest while Jack propped her feet up on pillows. “That better?” he said. “I hit him so hard,” she murmured the moment she was able to talk. “I was sure I killed him. Maybe he died of the concussion.” Her eyes went wide again with fear and she looked at Jack, but he shook his head with a little smile. “No such luck,” he said. “I talked to him last night.” She gasped. “What did you say? Is he all right? Did you tell him who you were?” The fears tumbled out of her. “I called him on the house phone. Relax, Laura, you’re among friends. I asked him if he knew where you were. He said no.” “What else?” Laura had clutched his arms with trembling hands. “He was pretty curious about _me_, naturally. But I didn’t give him my name and phone number. Now calm down, will you? You’re giving me the screaming mimis.” “What did he say?” She was crying again. “What? Tell me!” “He tried to get me to talk but I didn’t tell him anything, except that I was your best friend. Finally he said he was afraid he had hurt you.” Laura shut her eyes and covered her face with a groan. “He wanted a chance to explain. He said if I found you to tell him right away. He has an agency trying to track you down. He said to tell you he’s sorry.” Jack looked curiously at her. “He’s sorry,” she repeated, staring. “He’s sorry!” “Did he hurt you, honey?” Jack said gently. It was too enormous to describe, too torturous to explain; her own private agony. Not even Jack could share it with her. “Yes,” she whispered. “He hurt me.” She looked at Jack and he could see in her face how much more there was to it than the simple words told him. Jack crushed out his cigarette angrily. “I wish I could break his head for him,” he said. “No, no,” Laura said. “I thought I had killed him. I never meant to. I was sick. I’ve been so sick, Jack, you wouldn’t believe—Oh, thank God he’s alive. Thank God. I wanted to hurt him and I did. I never wanted anything more. Just a chance to get even with him.” “What the hell happened between you two?” “I can’t talk about it.” “You can to me.” “No. I can’t. Not to anybody.” “Did he beat you?” She shook her head. “Don’t ask me, Jack,” she said. “It’s my own personal sickness. And his. It’s between us, and nobody else.” Jack lighted a cigarette, watching her closely through the blue smoke. “Why did you go to him in the first place? Didn’t you know it would be bad?” “I had to,” she said, her face drawn and intense. “I’ve been running away from him all my life. I had to quit running and save myself. I had to tell him face to face what I am.” Jack’s brows drew together heavily. “You told him you were gay?” he asked. “Yes. I told him.” “What did he do?”