she saw that he grew paler again and thinner, and a terror seized her lest again the miasma of the land should take hold of him in his weakness. So strong was this fear, so vivid were her memories of that awful fever fiend with which he had wrestled, half-dead, so long, that she passionately besought him to grant her leave to go and sell her store of work and bring him back food and wine.
He himself began to see that they could not long continue to live thus, and let an unwilling assent be wrung from him. After all, too, he cared less. She had a lovely face, but he had looked on it so long that he knew its every line by heart, and thought he could have moulded it in clay with his eyes shut.
She was always there; that was her only fault to him. Perhaps it was the most fatal fault of all.
Therefore he let her go on this errand without objection, and bade her take with her a few of the trifles he had modelled: he fancied they might bring in a few pence.
She could not bear to leave him for a day, but she knew not what else to do. There was no one she could seek aid from
