"Why didn't you go to church yesterday?"
"What did you say, Will?"
"I said, why didn't you go to church yesterday?"
"Oh--I really didn't care to go."
"That wasn't like you--you so fond of the Abbey Church. Did your Aunt
go?"
"Yes."
"You said this afternoon she didn't go."
"She did go. I remember now."
"Ah! Another thing! That actor-feller--what d'yer call 'im--him that
you counted on and didn't find--Chugwun!"
"Yes."
"You see the name in the paper?"
"Yes."
"You didn't aarpen t'see it on the boards outside the theater?"
"No."
She was wide awake and quite sober now. But her limbs were trembling
again, and her eyes seemed preposterously large as they stared up at
him from the white face. "Will!" And she spoke fast and piteously;
"don't look at me like this. What's come to you? Why do you ask me
such a pack of questions?" And she tried to laugh. "At such a time of
night!"
"Bide a bit, my lass. I'm just thinking."
Where had the thoughts come from?--out of blank space?--from nowhere?
Yet here they were, filling his head, multiplying, expanding, making
his blood rattle like boiling water in a tube as it rushed up to
nourish their monstrous growth.
"Will, let go my shoulders.
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