I called out softly, "Jill!" no answer. "Jill!" not a sound. "O—Jill!" But he did not speak, so then I knew Jill must be dead, at any rate. I couldn't help wondering why he was so much deader than I that he couldn't answer a fellow. Pretty soon I heard a rustling noise under my feet, then a weak, sick kind of a voice, just the kind of a noise I always supposed ghosts would make if they could talk.
"Jack?"
"Is that you, Jill?"
"I—suppose—so. Is it you, Jack?"
"Yes. Are you dead?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
"I guess I must be if you are. How awfully dark it is."
"Awfully dark! It must have been the comet."
"Yes; did you get much hurt?"
"Not much—I say, Jack?"