He sat with his head dropped, not moving a muscle.
"And I don't want her to eat," he said, "and she knows it.

When I ask her: 'Shall you have anything' she's almost afraid to say 'Yes.' 'I'll have a cup of Benger's,' she says.

'It'll only keep your strength up,' I said to her.

'Yes'-- and she almost cried--'but there's such a gnawing when I eat nothing, I can't bear it.' So I went and made her the food.
It's the cancer that gnaws like that at her.

I wish she'd die!" "Come!" said Clara roughly.