"For what? . . ."
"I've forgotten."
"Why didn't you ask me?"
She had lit the gas.
"You were asleep."
"Don't be angry, Gerrit. I was tired."
"I'm not angry, dear. I didn't like to disturb you."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"You were asleep."
"You ought to have waked me."
He put out his arms to her:
"Come here, dear."
She came; he drew her to his knees.
"What is it, Gerrit?"
"Darling . . . Line . . . I believe I'm very . . . very ill."
"You've been ill, Gerrit. You're . . . you're getting better now . . ."
"Do you think so? . . ."
"Oh yes!"
"Line, I believe . . . I'm very . . . very . . . ill."
"Why, do you feel worse? . . . It's so cold in here. Come downstairs. We'll make up the fire."
"No, stay here. . . . Tell me, Line: if I died, would you . . ."
"No, no, Gerrit, I can't bear it!"
