five tablets, and helped her to drink half the glass of water. Then she slumped back and lay still, her face livid with pain. He was torn with misery at the sight of it. He searched for a clean handkerchief, and finding one, soaked it in water and put it on her hot forehead. Then he undid her heavy ropes of hair, spread them out on the paper, and carefully laid the large amber pins together in one place. Looking at her thus he thought her beautiful.
He leaned over her again. “Tell me if you can what you were going to write a leader about.”
“The Warendon fire—I wanted to make it good—something on heroism—you know ———”
“I know. I’ll do it. How long did you want it?”
“A column, if I could—we need the copy.”
“All right. I’ll do it. Lie still, and you will be better by the time it is finished.”
She was vaguely conscious that he covered her up with something, and then that she was alone. For a time, it seemed an eternity, she was sure her head was flying to bits. There were ghastly explosions of agony when she clenched her hands to keep from screaming, and then it all went suddenly, and she had exquisite moments of relief at the cessation of the pain. She slid into dreamland. She did not know where she was or remember that she had had a headache. She was aware of pale stars over her head and of the sheen of the moon tipping over the roof of the office. Then she thought she was in a boat. She could hear water. She tried to turn her head. She was mildly puzzled that she could not move it. She tried her arms. They too were made of lead. But she lay on untroubled by this phenomenon and drifted into curious dreams and profound oblivion.
