Elfride gave a little toss.
“Now, don’t writhe so when I attempt to carry you.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Then submit quietly.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care,” she murmured in languid tones and with closed eyes.
He took her into his arms, entered the turret, and with slow and cautious steps descended round and round. Then, with the gentleness of a nursing mother, he attended to the cut on her arm. During his progress through the operations of wiping it and binding it up anew, her face changed its aspect from pained indifference to something like bashful interest, interspersed with small tremors and shudders of a trifling kind.
In the centre of each pale cheek a small red spot the size of a wafer had now made its appearance, and continued to grow larger. Elfride momentarily expected a recurrence to the lecture on her foolishness, but Knight said no more than this—
“Promise me NEVER to walk on that parapet again.”
“It will be pulled down soon: so I do.” In a few minutes she continued in a lower tone, and seriously, “You are familiar of course, as everybody is, with those strange sensations we sometimes have, that our life for the moment exists in duplicate.”
“That we have lived through that moment before?”