“I wonder if I can talk.”
“The question is, Grigg—can I help you?”
“I'm afraid not, Henry. I doubt if any one can.” The force of this sank slowly into Withery's mind. “No one?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“I'm afraid not.... Do you think the others, my people here, see it?”
“The tone has changed here, Grigg.”
“I've tried not to believe it.”
“I've felt it increasingly for several years. When I've passed through. Even in your letters. It's been hard to speak before. For that matter, I had formulated no question. It was just an impression. But today... and to-night...”
“It's as bad as that, now.”
“Suppose I say that it's as definite as that, Grigg. The impression.”
Doane let his head drop back against the pillows; closed his eyes.