"You shall! I'll make this right with you! I'll stick to you! I'll fight to give you back your will-power—your mind. We'll do this together, for our country. I'll give up everything else to make this fight."
He began to tremble.
"I—if I could—"
"I tell you that you shall! We must do our bit, you and I!"
"You don't know—you don't know!" he cried in a bitter voice, then fell trembling again with the sweat of agony on his face.
"No, I don't know," she whispered, clutching his hand to steady him.
"But I shall learn."
"You'll learn that a drunkard is a dirty beast!" he cried. "Do you know what I'd do if anybody tried to keep me from drink? ANYBODY!—even you!"
"No, I don't know." She shook her head sorrowfully: "A mindless man becomes a demon, I suppose. … Would you—injure me?"
He was shaking all over now, and presently he sat up in bed and covered his head with one desperate hand.
"You poor boy!" she whispered.