She lifted a tear-stained face and looked at me dully.
"Richard, I can't bear it any longer. I've given half my life to looking after father. I simply can't bear it."
I sat up and stared at her. What strange intuition had come to her?
"What do you mean?"
She sobbed afresh.
"I can't endure the sight of him with those blue eyes," she went on, rather wildly. "Richard, I must get away. I've never been from him for more than a few hours at a time for the last fifteen years. Don't think I want him to die."
"I don't."
"I'm glad he's better," she remarked irrelevantly.
"So am I."
"The Perrys were saying that the doctors up in Birmingham think that the Blue Disease cut short other diseases, and made people feel better." She twisted her handkerchief for some moments. "Does it?" she asked, looking at me directly.