"I don't know what to do!" she moaned to herself, and then, "I can't bear it! I can't bear it!" But though she felt that her secret suspense and trouble was becoming intolerable, the one way in which she could have ended her misery never occurred to Mrs.Bunting.
In the long history of crime it has very, very seldom happened that a woman has betrayed one who has taken refuge with her.

The timorous and cautious woman has not infrequently hunted a human being fleeing from his pursuer from her door, but she has not revealed the fact that he was ever there.

In fact, it may almost be said that such betrayal has never taken place unless the betrayer has been actuated by love of gain, or by a longing for revenge.

So far, perhaps because she is subject rather than citizen, her duty as a component part of civilised society weighs but lightly on woman's shoulders.
And then--and then, in a sort of way, Mrs.Bunting had become attached to Mr.Sleuth.A wan smile would sometimes light up his sad face when he saw her come in with one of his meals, and when this happened Mrs.Bunting felt pleased--pleased and vaguely touched.

In between those--those dreadful events outside, which filled her with such suspicion, such anguish and such suspense, she never felt any fear, only pity, for Mr.Sleuth.
Often and often, when lying wide awake at night, she turned over the strange problem in her mind.