In silence he lifted her and laid her again upon the bed.

His touch was perfectly gentle, but there was no kindness in it, no warmth of any sort.
And Nan turned her face into the pillow and sobbed convulsively.

How could she tell him now?
He began to walk up and down the tiny room, still maintaining that ominous silence.

But she sobbed on, utterly unstrung, utterly hopeless, utterly spent.
He paused at last, and poured some water into a glass.
"Drink this," he said, stopping beside her.

"And then lie quiet until I speak to you." But she could neither raise herself nor take the glass.