“Philip,” she said softly. “Philip.” He turned his head, and she continued, “Philip, I’ve got good news for you. Are you listening?”
Philip nodded weakly.
“Naomi is going to have a little baby ... a little baby. Think of that!”
She waited, and Philip said nothing. He did not even move.
“Aren’t you glad, Philip? Think of it ... a little baby.”
He whispered, “Yes ... of course ... I’m glad,” and turned his face into the pillow once more.
Aunt Mabelle, excited by her news, went on, “You won’t have to wait long, because she’s already about four months along. She didn’t want to talk about it. She wasn’t even sure what was the matter, but I dragged it out of her. I thought she was looking kind of peaked.”
Then the door opened, and Emma and Naomi came in together. Naomi crossed to the bed, and, bending over Philip, said, “Here’s the water, Philip.” He stirred and she put her arm under his head while he drank. It seemed to him that all his body was alive with fire.
When he had finished, Naomi did an extraordinary thing. She flung herself down and burying her head against his thin chest, she began to sob wildly, crying out, shamelessly before Emma and Mabelle, “You mustn’t be sick, Philip. You mustn’t die ... I couldn’t live without you now. You’re all I’ve got.... No ... no ... you mustn’t die.” She clung to him with terrifying and shameless passion. “I couldn’t live without you ... I couldn’t ... I couldn’t ... I’ll never ... leave you.” Her long, pale hair came unfastened and fell about her shoulders, covering them both. “I’ll never leave you. I’ll do whatever you want.”
It was Emma who seized her by force and dragged her off him; Emma who, shaking her, said in a voice that was horrible in its hatred, “You fool! Do you want to make him worse? Do you want to kill him?”