I think I must have had intervals of insensibility, for the moments of consciousness came and went with me, like the diving and rising of a sea-bird in the midst of swelling waves.
At one such moment I became aware that the doctor and my Welsh landlady, as well as my nurse, were in the room, and that they were waiting for the crisis and fearing for my life.
I heard them talking in low voices which made a drumming noise in my ears, like that which the sea makes when it is rolling into a cave.
"She's let herself down so low, pore thing, that I don't know in the world what's to happen to her."
"As God is my witness, look you, I never saw anybody live on so little."
"I'm not afraid of the mother. I'm more afraid of the child, if you ask me."
Then the drumming noise would die out, and I would only hear something within myself saying:
"Oh God, oh God, that my child may be born dead."
At another moment I heard, above the rattle of the rain, the creaking of the mangle in the cellar-kitchen on the other side of the street.
At still another moment I heard the sound of quarrelling in the house opposite. A woman was screaming, children were shrieking, and a man was swearing in a thick hoarse voice.