Thus abruptly discarded from consideration, Hal turned to the fugitive.
"Is some one dead?"
"Not yet."
"Dying, then?"
"As good as. It's the Death," said the girl with a strong shudder.
"You said that before. What do you mean by the Death?"
"Don't keep me here talkin'," she shivered. "I wanta go home."
Hal walked along with her, wondering. "I wish you would tell me," he said gently.
"All I know is, they never get well."
"What sort of sickness is it?"