” She said fretfully. "We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task; "this will never do. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. So she said: “I won’t come home. ” Her words were slurred with sleep. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Let's get one idea into our heads.
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