Oh, go on, do!" Mr.Tulkinghorn reads again.

The heat is greater; my Lady screens her face.

Sir Leicester dozes, starts up suddenly, and cries, "Eh?
What do you say ?" "I say I am afraid," says Mr.Tulkinghorn, who had risen hastily, "that Lady Dedlock is ill." "Faint," my Lady murmurs with white lips, "only that; but it is like the faintness of death.

Don't speak to me.

Ring, and take me to my room!" Mr.Tulkinghorn retires into another chamber; bells ring, feet shuffle and patter, silence ensues.