"The dog it was that died."
She stayed as still as though she were turned to stone. She could not understand and gazed at him in terrified perplexity. It was meaningless. Delirium. He had not understood a word she said.
It was impossible to be so still and yet to live. She stared and stared. His eyes were open. She could not tell if he breathed. She began to grow frightened.
"Walter," she whispered. "Walter."
At last, suddenly, she raised herself. A sudden fear seized her. She turned and went to the door.
"Will you come, please. He doesn't seem to . . ."
They stepped in. The little Chinese surgeon went up to the bed. He had an electric torch in his hand and he lit it and looked at Walter's eyes. Then he closed them. He said something in Chinese. Waddington put his arm round Kitty.
"I'm afraid he's dead."
Kitty gave a deep sigh. A few tears fell from her eyes. She felt dazed rather than overcome. The Chinese stood about, round the bed, helplessly, as though they did not quite know what to do next. Waddington was silent. In a minute the Chinese began to speak in a low tone among themselves.
"You'd better let me take you back to the bungalow," said Waddington. "He'll be brought there."