“I—I think so,” faltered Gretel, sitting up, and pushing the wet hair out of her eyes. She was dimly conscious of being very untidy and dishevelled. She had never undressed since that day, ages ago, when she left New London; neither had her hair been combed or brushed.
“She needs more air,” Mrs. Becker said to her husband in German. “The air in there is stifling.”
“I know it,” returned her husband, “but it cannot be helped.” Then, turning to Gretel, he added:
“Did my wife tell you why I wished to see you?”
“It was because I thought you might enjoy reading the morning paper,” said the man, with a disagreeable laugh. “There is something in it that I am sure will interest you.”
Gretel was silent. The better air was beginning to revive her a little, but she still felt very dizzy and confused. Mr. Becker picked up a newspaper from the table, and held it out to her.
“You can find it easily,” he said. “What I want you to read is on the front page.”
Gretel took the paper and sat gazing blankly at it. She could make nothing of the letters that danced before her eyes.
“Shall I read it to you?” Mr. Becker asked, and without waiting for a reply, he began reading in the same sneering, disagreeable voice.