ts serene depths
to greet him. Her hands were thrust boyishly into the pockets of her
white coat, and there was an air of austere earnestness about her that
sat quaintly, charmingly upon her youth. He loved the businesslike
simplicity of her dress--the dark, tailored skirt and white silk
shirt--immaculate--expressive of her real ability, an accustomed wealth.
He flaired and hated its expensiveness.)

Money. That lay at the root of everything. If she were ill--what would
it matter? A mere set-back. Her work would wait for her. Money would
wave anxiety from her door. So she was never ill. Even though she loved
him and they had quarrelled she had kept her fresh skin and clear eyes.
Even if she had worried a little, in the end she had slept peacefully.
(He felt his own shabbiness, his exhaustion, his burning hands and eyes,
his dry and bitter mouth like a sort of uncleanliness.)

And there in the midst of his jagged thoughts there flickered a red
anger--a desire to hurt too, to strike, to come to grips at last with her
laughing philosophy of life--to tear it down and batter it into the dust
and misery in which he stood.

They had come to No. 10's bedside. Things had gone badly with No. 10.
She had stood a successful operation, but there had been severe
haemorrhage, and, as Robert had said, there was no constitution to fight
at the turning point. Her face just showed above the creaseless sheet.
Death had already begun to clear away the mask of vice and cynicism and a
lost prettiness peered through. But the eyes were terribly alive and
old. So long as they kept open there could be no mistaking her. They
travelled from face to face, and sought and questioned. Her voice
sounded reedy and far-off.

"Not going this trip, am I, doctor?"

Rogers patted the bed.

"Certainly not. Going along fine. What do you expect to feel like--with
a hole like that in your inside? Next time you have a young man, see he
doesn't carry firearms."

One of the eyes tried to wink--pitifully, obscenely.

"You bet your life. Don't want to die just yet."

"Nobody does."

They drew a little apart. Rogers consulted with his colleague. The
serious loss of blood must be made good. A transfusion. There was a
young man who had offered himself. A suitable subject. This afternoon
at the latest.

They moved on. Robert spoke to the man next him. But he knew that
Francey heard him. He meant her to hear.

"It's crazy. They