Then, drawing a deep breath, he went round the bed again to the dressing table side, where he bent over Vicky.
"Victoria Fane."
No change or stir.
"Victoria Fane." Whispering, the soft voice vibrated; it reached out into distances, and called beyond far doors.
"You hear me, Victoria Fane. You will not awake yet, but you hear me. Your mind is clear. You remember all the past, up to tonight. I wish to ask you something. You will answer me. You will speak nothing but the truth. Do you understand?"
The figure on the bed moaned.
Though a distinct sound, it was a mere whisper of the breath through her hps. Rich waited until the ticking of the clock seemed to have been lost in eternity.
"Victoria Fane, do you hate your husband?"
"Yes. No. Yes."
The eyes remained closed; the lips still barely moved; yet the struggle had returned.