"No wonder she jumped. I should jump now." He turned his mournful face to her. "Anne—I shall never be able to play again."
There was danger everywhere. In the end all ways led back to Colin's malady.
"Oh yes, you wall when you're quite strong."
"I shall never be stronger."
"You will. You're stronger already."
She knew he was stronger. He could sleep three hours on end now and he had left off screaming.
And still the doors were left open between their rooms at night. He was still afraid to sleep alone; he liked to know that she was there, close to him.
Instead of the dreams, instead of the sudden rushing, crashing horror, he was haunted by a nameless dread. Dread of something he didn't know, something that waited for him, something he couldn't face. Something that hung over him at night, that was there with him in the morning, that came between him and the light of the sun.
Anne kept it away. Anne came between it and him. He was unhappy and frightened when Anne was not there.
It was always, "You're not going, Anne?"