Clarkson looked at him suspiciously.
"What's that for?" he asked. "Can't they take me home? I should get well a deal sooner there than in this place."
"You cannot be moved. In fact, Clarkson, there is no chance of your getting well anywhere."
Clarkson turned his head sharply.
"Say out what you mean," he cried with an oath.
"I intend to do so. You are not likely to live till night."
The wretched man tried to raise himself, but his will had no power over his body. He turned his head round with a groan, and hid his face against the wall.
There were other people in the house; but since Clarkson had been brought in, they kept as much as possible at the further end, and could not hear what passed unless it was intended that they should. Presently Clarkson again looked round, and there was a new expression of terror and anxiety in his eyes.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Quite certain I can't get well?"
"Quite certain. There is not the shadow of a chance."