Chilcote
had drawn closer to the fire. He was obviously braced by the
warmth; and the apathy that hung about him was to some extent
dispelled. Still moving slowly, Loder went towards him, and,
relieving him of the empty cup, stood looking down at him.
"Chilcote," he said, very quietly, "I've come to fell you that
the thing must end."
After he spoke there was a prolonged pause; then, as if shaken
with sudden consciousness, Chilcote rose. The rug dropped
from one shoulder and hung down ludicrously; his hand caught
the back of the chair for support; his unshaven face looked
absurd and repulsive in its sudden expression of scared
inquiry. Loder involuntarily turned away.
"I mean it," he said, slowly. "It's over; we've come to the
end."
"But why?" Chilcote articulated, blankly. "Why? Why?" In
his confusion he could think of no better word.
"Because I throw it up. My side of the bargain's off!"
Again Chilcote's lips parted stammeringly. The apathy caused
by physical exhaustion and his recently administered drug was
passing from him; the hopelessly shattered condition of mind
and body was showing through it like a skeleton through a thin
covering of flesh.
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