Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. “I meant it. One must be on guard. Lassitude?” “I suppose so. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. ‘Why does this person say you are mad?’ ‘Because I am risking having my head blown off,’ Gerald answered cheerfully. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret.
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