He puffed at the cigarette but his hands shook so
much that she had to hold it for him. It soothed him considerably. She
registered that fact for future reference. Presently he threw the
cigarette across the room into the grate and turned over.
"Lord, I'm tired. Not had a decent night's sleep for centuries. Those
damn bunks on the Oriana were so hard! Marcella--I want to go to sleep.
If I don't get some sleep I shall go mad. Let me put my poor old head on
your shoulder and go to sleep. I--dream--of your--white shoulders."
She sat quite still, trembling a little until his heavy breathing told
her that he was asleep. His hair, which he had soaked in water to make
it lie straight, felt wet and cold on her neck. After a long while she
laid his head on the pillow and stood up, stretching herself because she
was so stiff.
"Don't leave me," he murmured, without opening his eyes. She laid a cool
hand on his head again. When she took it away he was fast asleep. She
stood with her hands clasped behind her, watching him for a long time.
Then she turned away with a sigh, to gaze through the window, trying to
locate her position by the stars, only to be puzzled until she
remembered that, for the last three weeks, the stars had been different
from those that kept their courses above Lashnagar. She would not have
felt so lonely had she been able to turn towards home as a Mahommedan
turns towards Mecca.
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