But Aunt Anne did not seem to have heard.
"Are you sure you're not cold, dear?"
"No, aunt."
Their hands touched.
"But you are. Put that rug over you. That one at the end of the bed.
I'm quiet now. I think perhaps I shall sleep a little."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Perhaps turn the lamp down, dear. That's it. A little more. Now, if
you'd just raise my pillow. There, behind my head. That's the way!
Why, what a good nurse you are!"
Maggie, as tenderly as she could, turned the pillow, patted it,
placed it beneath her aunt's head. She was close against her aunt's
face, and the eyes seemed suddenly so fierce and urgent, so
insistent and powerful, that seeing them was like the discovery of
some blazing fire in an empty house. Most of all, they were
terrified eyes. Maggie went back to her chair. After that, she sat
there during the slow evolution of Eternity; Eternity unrolled
itself before her, on and on and on, grey limitless mist and space,
comfortless, lifeless, hopeless. She had been for many weeks leading
a thoroughly unwholesome life in that old house with those old
women.
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