Lot's face, towards the doctor, looked as if death had already struck it; but he spoke firmly. “How long will it be, first?” he asked.
“I don't know.”
“Approximate.”
“A false step may do it.”
“I can lie still!”
“A coughing-spell may do it.”
“I will not cough!”
“More than that, a thought may do it, if it stirs your heart too much. I tell you as I should want to be told myself: your life hangs by a thread.”
“Sometimes a thread does not break,” Lot said, with a meditative light in his eyes.
“That's true enough.”