My weakness forced me to clutch the wall for support.
“I can’t,” I said, “unless you get me some whisky.”
She was still shrinking, her hands to her breast, and her face white.
“Oh! I didn’t know—I couldn’t believe—there was anything like—like this in you.”
“Hidden country,” I laughed, stumbling along the wall. “There’s hidden country in all of us.”
My hand was on the door of George’s stateroom. I pushed it open. Simmons was lying in George’s bed, a horrified expression upon his wooden-like countenance as he viewed his surroundings.
“Not my fault, sir,” he apologized as I betrayed surprise at seeing him there. “I was put here, sir; I couldn’t help it.”
“Glory be, Simmons! You’re looking sound.”
“Oh, I’m doing nicely, thank you, sir. A bit shot off the bottom of my liver, sir, the doctor says. I’ll do, says he, thank you.”
A revolver was lying on a table and I picked it up. It was loaded.