The wife, poor creature,
whimpered on her mattress. It was not a pleasant vigil. It lasted till
the grey dawn crept in, pitilessly intensifying the squalor of the room,
and until the dawn was broadening into daylight. Then two of Campion's
men from Barbara's Building arrived to relieve us. Before we went,
however, the neighbour who had taken charge of the children came in to
help the slatternly wife light a fire and make some tea. I have enjoyed
few things more than the warm, bitter stuff which I drank out of the
broken mug in that strange and depressing company.
I went out into the street with racked head and nerves and muscles.
Campion kept his cloth cap in his hand, allowing the morning wind to
ruffle his shaggy black hair, and drew a long breath.
"I think the worst is over now. As soon as he can be moved, I'll get him
down to the annexe at Broadstairs. The sea air will pull him round."
"Isn't it rather hopeless?" I asked.
He turned on me. "Nothing's hopeless. If you once start the hopeless
game down here you'd better distribute cyanide of potassium instead of
coals and groceries.
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