"It's not pleasant.

But I'll face it"-- she turned her eyes full upon him--"for you!" They listened for a moment together at the opened window.

The red lights were still burning here and there about the city in the streets below, and the carnival-like cries and noises still filled the air.
And she watched him anxiously as he and his packet of documents went down the dangling hemp rope, reached the stone paving of the little court, and disappeared in the square of light framed by the bake-shop window.
Then she turned back into the room, startled by a weak and wavering groan from Pobloff.

She went to him, and tried to lift him up on the bed, but he was too heavy for her overtaxed strength.

She wondered, as she slipped a pillow under his head, why she should be afraid of him in that comatose and helpless state--why even his white and passive face looked so vindictive and sinister in the dim light of the room.
But as he moved a little she started back, and caught up what things she could fling into her Gladstone bag, and put out the light, and groped her way across the room once more.
Then she flung open the door and stepped out into the hall, with a feeling that her heart was in her mouth, choking her.
She ceased running as she came to the bend in the hall, for she heard the sound of voices, and the light grew stronger.