A wish of the invalid called her to his side.
"The pillow has a lump," he said, and tried to turn over on his other side.
Ah, these pillows of sea-grass. She patted, she smoothed, she did her best, but his head found no repose.
"Here's another night full of the torment and terror of the flesh," he said with difficulty, mouthing each word.
"Do you want a drink?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"The stuff is bitter—but you see—this fear—there's the air and it fills everything—they say it's ten miles high—and a man like myself can't—get enough—you see I'm getting greedy." The mild jest upon his lips was so unwonted that it frightened her.
"I'd like to ask you to open the window."
She opposed him.
"The night air," she urged; "the draught——"