Something went up into his throat as she stood there looking
at him like that. He had never seen any one quite so beautiful. He
dropped his club, and held out his hand.
"Let's shake, Celie," he said. "I'm mighty glad you understand--
we're pals."
Unhesitatingly she gave him her hand, and in spite of the fact
that death lurked outside they smiled into each other's eyes.
After that she went into her room. For half an hour Philip did not
see her again.
During that half hour he measured up the situation more calmly. He
realized that the exigency was tremendously serious, and that
until now he had not viewed it with the dispassionate coolness
that characterized the service of the uniform he wore. Celie was
accountable for that. He confessed the fact to himself, not
without a certain pleasurable satisfaction. He had allowed her
presence, and his thoughts of her, to fill the adventure
completely for him, and as a result they were now facing an
appalling danger. If he had followed his own judgment, and had
made Bram Johnson a prisoner, as he should have done in his line
of duty, matters would have stood differently.
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