"There, there, old boy, don't worry. We'll both stay with you. I'll hold this hand, and Janey 'ull hold the other, and you'll soon get over it."
Len lay shivering and gasping. Nigel and Janey looked into each other's eyes across him, and swallowed their grief.
"I—I expect it's nothing," panted Leonard. "One often feels low at this time of night."
They leaned upon the bed each side of him, and suddenly Janey thrust out her hand and grasped Nigel's across him.
"Now we're all three holding hands," she said.
The minutes flew by. A clock was ticking—measuring them out.
"Kiss me ..." moaned Leonard suddenly.
They both stooped and kissed him.
He shut his eyes, then opened them, and a strange, piteous resignation was in their glazing depths.
"I'm sorry ... I must die.... I'm so tired."