"My God!—What is it—?"
The glazed, deadened eyes with the live, dumbed suffering behind them widened.
"Ach—Charlie—!"
"What's happened, Otto?"
"I—do—not—know. I was waiting, Charlie—for—you—to—come."
"Good old Otto!"
He saw Kurz's hand with the heavy, silver signet ring on the smallest finger go up trembling to his beard. It was the old familiar gesture.
"Good?—Did you say good of me, Charlie?"
"Yes, yes!" He insisted eagerly. "Of course it was good of you to come and meet me."
"I—had—to—come."