"My dear young lady, have you seen your own face in the glass?"
Len raised himself with difficulty on his pillows.
"Lord, Janey!—you look quite cooked up.... I say, old girl, I won't have it.... Doctor, I surrender."
"I don't know whether I can send any one in to-night—but I'll try. Anyhow, to-morrow morning—now 'ninety-nine,' please."
Nigel went over to East Grinstead for ice and fruit. Len was dreadfully thirsty all the evening. They put bags of ice on his forehead and sides, but it did not seem to cool him much. The doctor had left a sleeping-draught, to be administered the last thing at night.
"If I take it," said Len, "will you two go to bed?"
"Janey will," said Nigel. "I'll have a shake-down in here."
"Well, it'll keep me quiet, I suppose ... so I'll take the beastly thing.... I want to sleep ... but I don't want to die.... I won't die, in fact."
"Don't talk of it, old man."