The creature is dying; she may be dead now." She sank on the sofa and began to wipe away pouring tears.

Her old cheeks were pale and her handkerchief showed touches of rose-pink on its dampness.

She was aware of their presence, but was utterly indifferent.
Walderhurst stared at her haggard disorder and cleared his throat, finding himself unable to speak without doing so.
"Will you have the goodness to tell me," he said with weird stiffness, "what you are talking about ?" "About Emily Walderhurst," she answered.

"The boy was born yesterday, and she has been sinking ever since.

She cannot possibly last much longer." "She!" he gasped, turning lead colour.