“I went to him and rested my hand lightly on his head and smoothed back his hair as he liked me to do. He jerked away.
“'Wish you'd let me alone,' he muttered fretfully.
“I drew back, knowing what this irritability meant, and we sat in silence gazing into the glowing ashes. His fingers beat a nervous tattoo against the chair and presently, with some mumbled words, he rose and moved towards the door. Now I knew the fight was on, the fight with the Demon, drink, that was drawing him away from me. I followed him into the hall.
“'Don't go,' I pleaded, but he pushed my hand from the door-knob.
“'I'll be back soon,' he said, reaching for his hat.
“'Wait!' I whispered. Deep within I breathed a prayer: 'Brave heart, have courage; nimble wit, be alert; warm, white body hold him fast.'
“'Come back ... before the fire ... I want to talk to you,' I leaned against him caressingly, but I could feel no response as I nestled closer.
“'Don't you care for me any more?' I questioned tenderly.
“He was still unyielding, his brain was busy with the thought of the brown liquor that his whole system craved. Purposely I drew back my flowing sleeve and placed my warm flesh against his face. He turned to his old seat before the fire.
“'All right, I'll stay for ten minutes ... if what you say is important.'