"Much chance there is of that," I grunted.
She was silent for a time, and then I felt her arms about me, and I realised that she was trying to place my coat about my shoulders.
"If that's what you're after," I said, "I'll put it on. But you'll catch cold yourself."
She made no direct answer, but I heard something that sounded curiously like a sob.
Presently she moved up closer to me and a soft voice whispered in my ear, "Jim, I'll be warmer if you'll let me snuggle up to you. It's a long time since last ... I didn't deserve it then."
I reached out in the darkness and drew her towards me. With her tired head resting on my shoulder we waited for the dawn.
It was a long time coming, how long I cannot say, for in my then state of nervous tension the hours dragged with the awful unendingness of eternity. At last the black wall of night cracked into streaks of grey, looking for all the world like feeble sun-rays filtering through the chinks in the roof of a deserted house. Moira stirred a little, and I saw in one hasty glance that her wet hair was streaming about her face and her saturated dress was caked with black mud.
I held her off at arm's length and looked her over quizzically. Then we each laughed outright at the sight the other presented.
"You're wet through, Moira," I said, "and you look as if you've been having a mud-bath. All the same you're a brick to have stood it all the way you have."
"I'm not and I haven't," she said cryptically, and silenced my further objections with a kiss.