"Ah! Another thing! That actor-feller—what d'yer call 'im—him that you counted on and didn't find—Chugwun!"
"Yes."
"You see the name in the paper?"
"Yes."
"You didn't aarpen t'see it on the boards outside the theater?"
"No."
She was wide awake and quite sober now. But her limbs were trembling again, and her eyes seemed preposterously large as they stared up at him from the white face. "Will!" And she spoke fast and piteously; "don't look at me like this. What's come to you? Why do you ask me such a pack of questions?" And she tried to laugh. "At such a time of night!"
"Bide a bit, my lass. I'm just thinking."
Where had the thoughts come from?—out of blank space?—from nowhere? Yet here they were, filling his head, multiplying, expanding, making his blood rattle like boiling water in a tube as it rushed up to nourish their monstrous growth.
"Will, let go my shoulders. You hurt. Get into the bed—and be sensible. I'll answer all questions in the morning."