"Be serious and listen—"
"You listen: if I'm working too hard, it's to finish. I must, and soon."
"This compulsion," she paced her words, "will kill you if you let it."
"It'll kill me if I don't let it—"
"Here comes Harry."
It was time. Blearily, I fumbled with the pills, spilled the bottle. Frank helped me gather them up, as Harry arrived.
He said, a look of worry on his gaunt, gray features, "The rest of us are waiting."
Concerned, Frank asked, "Think you're able?"
"Anytime you say," I answered, in a cold-sober monotone.
She flushed, knowing I was sober, not knowing certainly if I were serious.