"You, Roger?"
"What has happened. Jerry?"
"Nothing. Don't ask."
"But Jack and I have been sitting up for you. We've been worried."
"I know. But it couldn't be helped. Just don't ask me anything, Roger."
I was glad enough to have him safe and apparently quite sane. I don't know why I should have considered his sanity at that moment of peculiar importance unless because my own mind had been all the afternoon and evening so colored with the impression of his last appearance. I had become so used to the sense of strain, of tension in his condition of mind, that the quiet, rather submissive tone of his voice affected me strangely. It seemed almost as if the disease was passing, that his fever was abated.
"I won't ask you anything, if you don't like, but I think you'd better come to the house and get a hot bath and to bed."
He remained silent for a long moment.
"I'm not going to the house, Roger. I'm going—"
He paused again.