I laughed.
"What a mixture! No wonder you're mixed yourself!"
"Can't stand it!" he only muttered again.
"No, you must sit it out or sleep it off now," I said, getting up
with a stretch. "Faina in good form?"
"Magnificent--Vic, you should have been there!"
"Thanks! yes, I think so!" I said, gathering up the precious pages
from the floor and table and piling them on a console. I wanted to
go and get my own breakfast, but the look of Howard's face, as it
lay against the chair back, bloodless, and the colour of ashes, made
me hesitate to leave him.
"Can I get you anything?" I said.
"No--help me into bed," he muttered, without opening his eyes,
moving his head restlessly from side to side.
"Come along, then," I answered, bending over him; "here's my arm."
He half raised his lids at that, and then feebly pushed a leaden
hand and arm through mine. There was a pause. He seemed unable to
make a farther movement, and sat, his head sunk into his chest, his
arm hanging through mine.
"Come, Howard, make an effort," I said, after a minute, and he
staggered uncertainly to his feet.
Getting him into the next room and into bed was a lengthy and
difficult matter, but at last, after protracted pauses, it was
effected, and he fell back upon the pillows--face and lips one tint
with the linen. I spoke to him, but I got no articulate answer, only
groans in response.
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