"To-morrow I'll wire for Doctor Hartley to come down at once from Assouan."
"It's this awful insomnia that's doing for me. All my life I've slept so well—till now. And the rheumatic pains; how can the sun—Ruby, sometimes I think it's nothing to do with the sun."
"But, then, what can it be? You know you would expose yourself, though I begged and implored—"
"But the heat's nothing new to me. For months in the Fayyûm I worked in the full glare of the sun. And it never hurt me."
"Nigel, it was the sun. One may do a thing ninety-nine times, and the hundredth time one pays for it."
A chair creaked.
"Do you want to turn, Nigel? Wait, I'll help you."
"Isn't it awful to lose all one's strength like this?"
"It'll come back. Wait! You're slipping. Let me put my arm behind you."
"Yes, give me your hand, dearest!"