doctors stu-upid? They don't know.'

She leaned her elbow on her knee, lifted her veil that had fallen, and,
chin in hand, stared at him. He looked at her--till his eyes were
blurred with tears.

'Have I been there, think you?' she said.

'Surely--surely,' Conroy answered, for he had well seen the fear and the
horror that lived behind the heavy-lidded eyes, the fine tracing on the
broad forehead, and the guard set about the desirable mouth.

'Then--suppose we have one--just one apiece? I've gone without since
this afternoon.'

He put up his hand, and would have shouted, but his voice broke.

'Don't! Can't you see that it helps me to help you to keep it off? Don't
let's both go down together.'

'But I want one. It's a poor heart that never rejoices. Just one. It's
my night.'

'It's mine--too. My sixty-fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh.' He shut his
lips firmly against the tide of visualised numbers that threatened to
carry him along.

'Ah, it's only my thirty-ninth.' She paused as he had done. 'I wonder if
I shall last into the sixties.... Talk to me or I shall go crazy. You're
a man. You're the stronger vessel. Tell me when you went to pieces.'