“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. I always fall on my feet, you know. Not Trodger. He reached for her and she stroked his head soothingly as his mother had done a few times when he had suffered bad fevers. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. The latter had delivered himself from one of his assailants, the attendant, Davies. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him.
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