She shuddered a little, as she recalled that foolish mistake, and pictured the perils into which it might have led her.

She could detect more clearly now the odor of brandy on his quickening breath.

His face, death-like in its pallor, flashed before and above her like a semaphoric sign of imminent danger.

Action of some sort, however obvious, was necessary.
"I want a drink," she gasped, with a movement toward the cabinet.
He turned and caught up the heavy glass brandy-decanter, emitting a nervous and irresponsible laugh.
In one hand he held the decanter, in the other the half-filled tumbler.
That, at least, implied an appreciable space of time before those hands could be freed.

In that, she felt, lay her hope.
Quicker than thought she darted to the door over which still swung the shrouding blanket.