All expression seemed to pass from her face; the very life seemed
drawn from it. Those who were watching her saw suddenly an old
woman looking at something of which she was afraid.
The girl seemed to find an unnatural strength. She dragged
herself up and turned wildly to Tavernake.
"Take me away," she cried, in a low voice. "Take me away at
once."
The woman at the counter did not speak. Tavernake stepped
quickly forward and then hesitated. The girl was on her feet now
and she clutched at his arms. Her eyes besought him.
"You must take me away, please," she begged, hoarsely. "I am
well now--quite well. I can walk."
Tavernake's lack of imagination stood him in good stead then. He
simply did what he was told, did it in perfectly mechanical
fashion, without asking any questions. With the girl leaning
heavily upon his arm, he stepped into the street and almost
immediately into a passing taxicab which he had hailed from the
threshold of the shop. As he closed the door, he glanced behind
him. The woman was standing there, half turned towards him,
still with that strange, stony look upon her lifeless face. The
chemist was bending across the counter towards her, wondering,
perhaps, if another incident were to be drawn into his night's
work. The eau-de-cologne was running in a little stream across
the floor.
"Where to, sir?" the taxicab driver asked Tavernake.
"Where to?" Tavernake repeated.
The girl was clinging to his arm.
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