“Good-night,” he said, flushing; “I’ll do my best. But only one of God’s envoys, like you, knows how to do battle with things that come out of hell.”
After a moment’s silence she said in a colourless voice: “I wish you’d lie down on the bed.”
“Had you rather I did?”
“Yes.”
So he went slowly to the bed, placed his pistol under the pillow, drew his dressing-gown around him, and lay down.
After he had lain unstirring for half an hour: “Try to sleep, Tressa,” he said, without turning his head.
“Can’t you seem to sleep, Victor?” she asked. And he heard her turn her head.
“No.”
“Shall I help you?”
“Do you mean use hypnosis—the power of suggestion—on me?”