William Faulkner, SANCTUARY – WordPress.com - literature save 2

himself facing Narcissa across the desk in his dingy office, his expression was like that
when he had put the forty-two dollars into the pot.
"I only wish it weren't your brother," he said. "I hate to see a brother-in-arms, you
might say, with a bad case." She was watching him with a blank, enveloping look. "After
all, we've got to protect society, even when it does seem that society does not need
protection."
"Are you sure he cant win?" she said.
"Well, the first principle of law is, God alone knows what the jury will do. Of
course, you cant expect--"
"But you dont think he will."
"Naturally, I--"
"You have good reason to think he cant. I suppose you know things about it that
he doesn't."
He looked at her briefly. Then he picked up a pen from his desk and began to
scrape at the point with a paper cutter. "This is purely confidential. I am violating my
oath of office. I wont have to tell you that. But it may save you worry to know that he
hasn't a chance in the world. I know what the disappointment will be to him, but that cant
be helped. We happen to know that the man is guilty. So if there's any way you know of
to get your brother out of the case, I'd advise you to do it. A losing lawyer is like a losing
anything else, ballplayer or merchant or doctor: his business is to-"
"So the quicker he loses, the better it would be, wouldn't it?" she said. "If they
hung the man and got it over with." His hands became perfectly still. He did not look up.
She said, her tone cold and level: "I have reasons for wanting Horace out of this case. The
sooner the better. Three nights ago the Snopes, the one in the legislature, telephoned out
home, trying to find him. The next day he went to Memphis. I dont know what for. You'll
have to find that out yourself. I just want Horace out of this business as soon as possible."
She rose and moved toward the door. He hobbled over to open it; again she put
that cold, still, unfathomable gaze upon him as though he were a dog or a cow and she
waited for it to get out of her path. Then she was gone. He closed the door and struck a
clumsy clogstep, snapping his fingers just as the door opened again; he snapped his hands
toward his tie and looked at her in the door, holding it open.
"What day do you think it will be over with?" she said.
"Why, I cuh-- Court opens the twentieth," he said. "It will be the first case. Say . .
. Two days. Or three at the most, with your kind assistance. And I need not assure you
that this will be held in strictest confidence between us . . ." He moved toward her, but
her blank calculating gaze was like a wall, surrounding him.
"That will be the twenty-fourth." Then she was looking at him again. "Thank
you," she said, and closed the door.
That night she wrote Belle that Horace would be home on the twenty-fourth. She
telephoned Horace and asked for Belle's address.
"Why?" Horace said.
"I'm going to write her a letter," she said, her voice tranquil, without threat.
Dammit, Horace thought, holding the dead wire in his hand, How can I be expected to
combat people who will not even employ subterfuge. But soon he forgot it, forgot that
she had called. He did not see her again before the trial opened.