"Please," she said. Her voice, cracked and breathless, was the voice of a woman begging. "Please do not do that, professor. I am begging you. I will do anything. Please."
I looked at her. At the face, white and wet. At the eyes, blue and desperate. At the hand, gripping my arm, that was shaking.
"What will you do in exchange for it?" I said.
She trembled. The question, the implication, the open-ended nature of the demand, was a trap. She knew it. I knew she knew it. The knowledge passed between us in the space of a heartbeat.
"What..." she started. The word, incomplete, was the word of a woman who was afraid to finish the question.
I walked. She stumbled after me. Her hand, still on my arm, was dragged along. Her feet, in their polished shoes, scrambled to keep up.
"I do not know," she said. "Tell me what you want. I will do it. Anything. Just do not send the letter."
