'Sit down!' cried Conroy, and the sweat stood again on his forehead. He had fought through a few nights, and had been defeated on more, and he knew the rebellion that flares beyond control to exhaustion.
She smoothed her hair and dropped back, but for a while her head and throat moved with the sickening motion of a captured wry-neck.
'Once,' she said, spreading out her hands, 'I ripped my counterpane from end to end. That takes strength. I had it then. I've little now. "All dorn," as my little niece says. And you, lad?'
'"All dorn"! Let me keep your case for you till the morning.'
'But the cold feeling is beginning.'
'Lend it me, then.'
'And the drag down my right side. I shan't be able to move in a minute.'
'I can scarcely lift my arm myself,' said Conroy. 'We're in for it.'
'Then why are you so foolish? You know it'll be easier if we have only one—only one apiece.'
She was lifting the case to her mouth. With tremendous effort Conroy caught it. The two moved like jointed dolls, and when their hands met it was as wood on wood.
'You must—not!' said Conroy. His jaws stiffened, and the cold climbed from his feet up.
'Why—must—I—not?' She repeated the words idiotically.
Conroy could only shake his head, while he bore down on the hand and the case in it.
