And she began to
practise the bearing of the coming pain, trying to project herself into
this unknown suffering, so that it should not surprise from her cries
and contortions.
She had one dream, over and over again, of sinking and sinking into a
feather bed, growing hotter and more deeply walled in by that which
had no stay in it, yet through which her body could not fall and reach
anything more solid. Once, after this dream, she got up and spent the
rest of the night wrapped in a blanket and the eider-down, on the old
sofa, where, as a child, they had made her lie flat on her back from
twelve to one every day. Betty was aghast at finding her there asleep
in the morning. Gyp's face was so like the child-face she had seen
lying there in the old days, that she bundled out of the room and cried
bitterly into the cup of tea. It did her good. Going back with the tea,
she scolded her "pretty" for sleeping out there, with the fire out, too!
But Gyp only said:
"Betty, darling, the tea's awfully cold! Please get me some more!"
X
From the day of the nurse's arrival, Winton gave up hunting. He could
not bring himself to be out of doors for more than half an hour at a
time. Distrust of doctors did not prevent him having ten minutes
every morning with the old practitioner who had treated Gyp for mumps,
measles, and the other blessings of childhood.
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