"Starving! What the devil does she mean?"
He turned on Mrs. Brigg, who suddenly shrunk away muttering:
"I'll get something; breakfast—I'll get it."
Julian looked dazed. He was only recovering gradually from his drunken stupor.
"Starving—starving," he repeated, vacantly staring at Cuckoo, who said nothing more, only lay back, trying to understand things, and to emerge from the mists and noises in which she still seemed to be floating. Presently Mrs. Brigg returned and shuffled about the table with a furtive, contorted face, laying breakfast. The teapot smoked.
"Come along, my dearie," began the old creature.
But Julian thrust her out of the room. He brought Cuckoo tea and food, fed her, put the cup to her lips. At first she had scarcely the strength to swallow, but presently she began to revive, and then ate and drank so ravenously that Julian, even in his vague condition, was appalled.
"Good God, it's true!" he said. "Cuckoo starving!"
He sat by her turning this piercing matter over in his mind. Its strangeness helped to sober him.
"You eat too," she said.