They were silent for a long time. The darkness lay upon them like a heavy vapour, lay upon the strong man in the lower bunk, tortured with twitching nerves, upon the little man above, nauseated with weakness; it lay upon them heavy, tainted, without mercy, turned from the sweet poppy-consoler to a hostile, sullen power keeping them awake to their torments. And the little man began to cough, a long dreary fit that seemed to have no end.
When it did terminate, 9009 let out a big breath; he found that he had held it all through the time that his mate was coughing. He lay silent a while longer, then, hesitatingly, “C’n I—help you—anyways?” he asked.
The response was slow in coming; then it dropped down softly. “Ye’re the first man as ever asked me that in this hell-hole,” said the little cell-mate.
They were quiet again, long. 9009 had thrown off his blanket and lay very still. But the darkness now was less heavy upon him; between the two bunks it seemed to have become
