And then he was standing over her, holding a tumbler against her chattering teeth.
"Drink it," he said, and, though his voice sounded far away, it was firm and authoritative. "Quick; don't pretend you can't swallow, for you can."
He tipped the glass, and something wet and cold ran over her chin: anything was better than that, and she tried to drink. As she did so she
realised she was thirsty, drank it all eagerly and gasped.
"Have you had anything to eat all day?" the dominating voice went on; it sounded much nearer now.
"I can't remember," she said, feebly. "Oh, why did you give me all that brandy, it's made me so muzzy and confused, and there's so much I ought to see to."
"You rest a bit first—you'll be all right presently."
Someone lifted her by the knees and put the whole of her on the sofa. It was very comfortable; she was not so cold now. She lay quite still and closed her eyes. She had not had a real night's sleep since she reached Bombay. Fay was always restless and nervous, and Jan had not had her clothes off for forty-eight hours. The long strain was over, there was nothing to watch and wait for now. She would do as that voice said, rest for a few minutes.
There was a white chuddah shawl folded on the end of the sofa. Fay had liked it spread over her knees, for she was nearly always chilly.
Peter opened it and laid it very lightly over Jan, who never stirred.