in front of her, the _chuddah_ pushed back from his face, humbly
offering her an oatmeal biscuit with a small heap of rice piled upon
it.

She drew back shuddering. "I couldn't eat anything--possibly," she
said, and even her voice seemed to shrink. "You can. You take it. I
would rather die."

Nick did not withdraw his hand. "Take it, Muriel," he said quietly.
"It is going to do you good."

She flashed him a desperate glance in which anger, fear, abhorrence,
were strongly mingled. He advanced the biscuit a little nearer. There
was a queer look on his yellow face, almost a bullying look.

"Take it," he said again.

And against her will, almost without conscious movement, she obeyed
him. The untempting morsel passed from his hand to hers, and under the
compulsion of his insistence she began to eat.

She felt as if every mouthful would choke her, but she persevered,
urged by the dread certainty that he would somehow have his way.

Not until the last fragment was gone did she feel his vigilance relax,
but he ate nothing himself though there remained several biscuits and
a very little of the rice.

"You are feeling better?" he asked her then.