Capt. G. It must have been to make your head cooler.
VOICE. Just like a boy's wig. Don't I look horrid?
Capt. G. Never looked prettier in your life, dear. (Aside.) How am I to ask her to say goodbye?
VOICE. I don't feel pretty. I feel very ill. My heart won't work. It's nearly dead inside me, and there's a funny feeling in my eyes. Everything seems the same distance—you and the almirah and the table inside my eyes or miles away. What does it mean, Pip?
Capt. G. You're a little feverish, Sweetheart—very feverish. (Breaking down.) My love! my love! How can I let you go?
VOICE. I thought so. Why didn't you tell me that at first?
Capt. G. What?
VOICE. That I am going to—die.
Capt. G. But you aren't! You sha'n't.
Ayah to punkah-coolie. (Stepping into veranda after a glance at the bed. ). Punkah chor do! (Stop pulling the punkah.)