My God, are you hurt ?" With a sob of relief she realised that it was the voice of her fellow-traveller.

He was here, close to her, something alive and human in the midst of this nightmare of awful, unspeakable fear, and she clung to him, shuddering.
"Speak, can't you ?" His utterance sounded hoarse and distorted.

"You're hurt-- ?" And she felt his hands slide searchingly along her limbs, feeling and groping.
"No--no." "Thank God!" He spoke under his breath.

Then, giving her a shake: "Come, pull yourself together.

We must get out of this." He fumbled in his pocket and she heard the rattle of a matchbox, and an instant later a flame spurted out in the gloom as he lit a bundle of matches together.