"To-morrow is the latest."
"Mother will die to-morrow. The day after to-morrow she will be dead. What is the day after to-morrow?"
"To-day's Friday. It'll be Sunday!"
His voice gathered urgency. "Boys must go to funerals!" he demanded.
"They must," she said, "they always do! We don't go," she added. "You must go for us!"
"There will be no mother the day after to-morrow?"
"Philip," she wailed, "why must you go on like that? I can't bear it! It's been bad enough, but this is worse. You're looking and talking so funny I can't make you out. Go on with your tea, it's getting cold! I'll put in some tea from the teapot, shall I?" She hastened to the fire on unsteady feet.
"Cold," he was repeating, "the day after to-morrow!"
She left the fire and crossed over to him. "Philip, don't!" she implored. She shook him by the shoulders as if he were relapsing into dangerous sleep.
He blinked. There was a grinding in his head like a clock running down. "Poor old Channah, I'm sorry! I was hungry and it's made me dizzy. What a pig I've been! What have I been saying?"