"We can't very
well imprison them like those aviators, where they'd be a continual
reproach to us every day. And it's always been made easier for Jasmine
and me, because father had it done sooner than we expected. In that
way we avoided any farewell scene-"
"So you murdered them! Uh!" cried John.
"It was done very nicely. They were drugged while they were
asleep--and their families were always told that they died of scarlet
fever in Butte."
"But--I fail to understand why you kept on inviting them!"
"I didn't," burst out Kismine. "I never invited one. Jasmine did. And
they always had a very good time. She'd give them the nicest presents
toward the last. I shall probably have visitors too--I'll harden up to
it. We can't let such an inevitable thing as death stand in the way of
enjoying life while we have it. Think of how lonesome it'd be out here
if we never had _any_ one. Why, father and mother have sacrificed
some of their best friends just as we have."
"And so," cried John accusingly, "and so you were letting me make love
to you and pretending to return it, and talking about marriage, all
the time knowing perfectly well that I'd never get out of here
alive---"
"No," she protested passionately. "Not any more. I did at first. You
were here. I couldn't help that, and I thought your last days might as
well be pleasant for both of us. But then I fell in love with you,
and--and I'm honestly sorry you're going to--going to be put
away--though I'd rather you'd be put away than ever kiss another
girl.
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