She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. What was the wench at? Yet he could not maintain this stand off forever. At sight of his wan features, she forgot the urgency of her need for a moment, and fell to her knees at his bedside, placing her hands on his slack ones where they lay on the soiled coverlet. " "You're agitating yourself unnecessarily, Joan," returned Wood, in a soothing voice.
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