"Well?" said the mouth; and still the hands dangled.
"Laurie," she said steadily, bending all her will at the words,
"you're very unwell. Do you understand that?"
Again the noiseless gabbling of the lips, and again a little
commonplace sentence, "I'm all right."
His voice was unnatural--a little hoarse, and quite toneless. It was
as a voice from behind a mask.
"No," said Maggie carefully, "you're not all right. Listen, Laurie. I
tell you you're all wrong; and I've come to help you as well as I can.
Will you do your best? I'm speaking to _you_, Laurie ... to _you_."
Every time he answered, the lips flickered first as in rapid
conversation--as of a man seen talking through a window; but this time
he stammered a little over his vowels.
"I--I--I'm all right."
Maggie leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly, and her eyes fixed
steadily on that baffling face.
"Laurie; it's you I'm speaking to--_you_.... Can you hear me? Do _you_
understand?"
Again the eyes rose quick and suspicious; and her hands knit yet more
closely together as she fought down the rising nausea. She drew a long
breath first; then she delivered a little speech which she had half
rehearsed upstairs.
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