He was sorry
that he had seen Miss Woodville with the tray. And then he wasn't.
Nevertheless, he stayed in his own room, and Warner, waking for a moment,
regarded him with wonder as he sat outlined against the window which they
had left unshuttered and opened to admit air.
"What's the matter, Dick? Have you got a fever?" he asked. "Why haven't
you gone to bed?"
"I'm going to do so right away. Don't bother yourself about me, George.
My nerves have been strained pretty hard, and I had to wait until they
were quiet until I could go to sleep."
"Don't have nerves," said Warner, as he turned back on his side and
returned to slumber.
Dick undressed and got into bed. It was the first time in many nights
that he had not slept in his clothes, and beds had been unknown for many
weeks. It was a luxury so penetrating and powerful that it affected
him like an opiate. Such questions as military and moral duty floated
swiftly away, and he slept the sleep of youth and a good heart.
Breakfast was almost a repetition of supper. The army cook prepared and
served it, and the Woodvilles remained invisible.
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