"I am going to fetch you some coffee," I said, leaning over him.
His eyes opened wide, and fixed upon me with a sort of helpless
terror.
"No, no! don't go!--stay!" he whispered, clutching my wrist with his
damp, shaking fingers. "Stay--a minute."
"But you want something to pull you round. I shan't be two seconds,"
I answered, trying to unclasp his clinging fingers.
"Never mind! Oh, Vic, for God's sake stay."
There was an abject appeal in the bloodshot eyes, a desperate
tenacity in his clutch. He looked at me as if he dared look nowhere
else. Some horror seemed pressing upon his confused and weakened
brain, and I thought I could soothe him best by staying.
"Very well--there, I'm not going," I said, reassuringly.
Still he did not relax his grip upon me, but his eyes closed again,
and he seemed satisfied. I sat down on a chair at the bedside and
waited. The sun poured brighter and brighter through the blinds and
touched up the mantelpiece.
The photograph of Faina's sister, surrounded by some others of her
set, was propped up in the centre of it, on a couple of paper
volumes. My own head was aching violently now, and after a time the
woman's figure on the glossy, sun-flecked surface of the card began
to sway and swim before my eyes as I looked lazily at it.
The minutes passed by and Howard did not move.
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