She was not there. I felt about, and I felt only the warm hollow her
body had left in the under-sheet. Even in my agony and helplessness
the intimacy of that warmth her body had left was very dear to me.
Between the lack of oxygen in my lungs (due to the blankets), the
pain of the sulphur, and the mortal dizziness in my brain, I felt
that I might well cease there where the linen warmed my hand.
Perhaps I should have ceased, had I not heard a terrible coughing
from along the hall. It was new life to me. I fell from bed to
floor and managed to get upright until I gained the hall, where again
I fell. Thereafter I crawled on hands and knees to the foot of the
stairway. By means of the newel-post I drew myself upright and
listened. Near me something moved and strangled. I fell upon it and
found in my arms all the softness of Margaret.
How describe that battle up the stairway? It was a crucifixion of
struggle, an age-long nightmare of agony. Time after time, as my
consciousness blurred, the temptation was upon me to cease all effort
and let myself blur down into the ultimate dark.
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