“Of course not. I’ll write to Ida.”
“It’s really awfully good of you. It would certainly make things easier for me.”
She laughed softly.
“Aren’t you well?” he asked.
“I feel deadly,” she said.
“How do you mean?”
“I feel as if I were dying by inches.”
“Why?”
“It’s terrible here. We’ve been longing for the rains; and, now that they’ve come, they are driving me mad. And ... I don’t know what: I can’t stand it here any longer.”
“Where?”