His gaze shifted heavily to the woman. With effort he enunciated one word more: "Drink...."
As though by that monosyllable freed from an enchaining spell, Joan started, moved quickly to his side and held the goblet to his lips.
He drank noisily, gulping and slobbering; overflowing at either corner of his mouth, the liquor dripped twin streams upon his naked bosom.
Mechanically Matthias put his hat down on the table.
He experienced an incredulous sensation, as though he were struggling to cast off the terror and oppression of some particularly vivid and coherent nightmare.
From the farther room that noise persisted of monotonous and awful laughter.
Marbridge ceased to swallow and grunted. Joan removed the glass and drew away without looking at Matthias. At a cost of considerable will-power, apparently, the wounded man collected himself and levelled at Matthias his louring, but now less dull, regard.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" he said ungraciously. "Well, you'll do at a pinch.... I wanted Arlington ... but you if he couldn't be found."
"Well," said Matthias stupidly, "I'm here.... The doctor's seen you, I suppose?"
"Yes—did what he could for me—no use wasting effort—it's my cue to exit."