" "Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. She turned away from the doorway of the silk loom to observe. There is scarcely one chance in a dozen of saving his life; there would be none at all if he were moved. He gurgled as if trying to communicate. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. There! You are trying to take your hand away. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. “Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. Look somewhere else in life. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head.
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