The cry of the wife, before Campion awed her
into comparative silence, was a monotonous upbraiding of her husband for
bringing them down to this poverty. It seemed impossible to touch her
intelligence and make her understand that no words from her or any one
could reach his consciousness. His violence, his screams, his threats,
the horrors of his fear left her unmoved. We were there to guard her
from physical danger, and that to her was all that mattered.
In the course of an hour or so the nausea left me. I felt braced by the
grimness of the thing, and during the paroxysms I had no time to think
of anything but the mechanical work in hand. It was all that Campion and
I, both fairly able-bodied men, could do to keep the puny little tailor
in his bed. Horrible shapes menaced him from which he fought madly to
escape. He writhed and shrieked with terror. Once he caught my hand in
his teeth and bit it, and Campion had some difficulty in relaxing
the wretch's jaw. Between the paroxysms Campion and I sat on the bed
watching him, scarcely exchanging a word.
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