Let us make the most of what time we have! Don't waste your
strength! Try to tell me quietly what happened, how it was you gave me
up! I want to understand it all. I have never yet heard the truth."
Her quiet words, the steady pressure of her hand, calmed him. He lay
still for a space, gazing at her.
"You're not afraid?" he muttered at last.
"No," she said.
He continued to stare at her.
"Is he--good to you?" he said.
The words came with difficulty. She saw his throat working with the
convulsive effort to produce sound.
Curtis touched her arm. "Give him this!"
She took a cup from his hand, and held it to the swollen lips. But he
could not swallow. The liquid trickled down into his beard.
"He's past it," murmured Curtis.
"Sybil!" The words came with a hard, rending sound. "Is he--good to
you?"
She was wiping away the spilt drops with infinite, unfaltering
tenderness.
"Yes, dear," she answered. "He is very good to me."
He uttered a great gasping sigh.
"That's--all--that matters," he said, and fell silent, still gazing at
her with eyes that seemed too fixed to take her in.
In the long, long silence that followed no one moved.
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