Does it make you tired, Jim?"
"Oh, no. No, no, Gabrielle—not at all!" Jim managed to spruce up enough to deny the intimation.
"Then please continue," urged Gabrielle.
Hygeia was delighted to find her entertainment so successful, and proceeded, not noting, of course, the inward groans which spread through the quaking man in the bed. Jim could see that unless a great stroke of luck turned up there would be another fire, and he would take a fall that would probably kill him next time.
It is dangerous to leave waste paper like those letters lying around close to such highly inflammable material.
Poor Hygeia! She played with the fire like a child. What did she know about the rules of the Board of Underwriters! Neither had she ever heard of the Bureau of Combustibles!
It's a mighty lucky thing for my nerves that I was dreaming an easier plot.
If Jim had been able to reach over the back of his bed and slit me with a cleaver into rosette ribbons, one-quarter inch wide, I believe he would have done it and been proud of the job.
Hygeia continuing, with Gabrielle expectant and Jim well muffled, must have presented a picture I would give anything to have preserved in oil paint.