Then Sheila noticed the stains. “Compromise—and kindness. “There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. I don’t want to get old or to watch my kids get married or retire. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard.
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