She had simply had an awful feeling that she couldn't stand up--more, that she must fall down.

Bunting's words touched a most unwonted chord in the poor woman's heart, and the eyes which she opened were full of tears.

She had not thought her husband knew how she had suffered during those weeks of starving and waiting.
But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment.

To her such betrayal betokened "foolishness," and so all she said was, "There's no need to make a fuss! I only turned over a little queer.
I never was right off, Daisy." Pettishly she pushed away the glass in which Bunting had hurriedly poured a little brandy.

"I wouldn't touch such stuff--no, not if I was dying!" she exclaimed.
Putting out a languid hand, she pulled herself up, with the help of the table, on to her feet.