“O God!” he groaned, “why did you come out?”
He rose, lifted her elbow, murmured something to the guests. He would have supported her to the door, but she pleaded:
“Don’t! They’ll think it’s too much ch-ch-champagne. I’m all right!”
She made the door in excellent control, but it cost her her last cent of strength. Outside, she would have fallen, but he huddled her in his arms, lifted her, carried her to his car. He piled robes on her, but those riveters inside her threatened to pound her to death. Burning pains gnawed her chest like cross-cut saws.
When the car stopped she was not in front of her cottage, but before the hospital.
When the doctor finished his inspection she heard him mumble to Davidge:
“Pneumonia! Double pneumonia!”