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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"

Torp, old man, don't go away. I'm all in the
dark. In the dark, I tell you!"
Torpenhow held the candle within a foot of Dick's eyes, but there was no light
in those eyes. He lit the gas, and Dick heard the flame catch. The grip of his
fingers on Torpenhow's shoulder made Torpenhow wince.
"Don't leave me. You wouldn't leave me alone now, would you? I can't see.
D'you understand? It's black,--quite black,--and I feel as if I was falling
through it all."
"Steady does it." Torpenhow put his arm round Dick and began to rock him gently
to and fro.
"That's good. Now don't talk. If I keep very quiet for a while, this darkness
will lift. It seems just on the point of breaking. H'sh!" Dick knit his brows
and stared desperately in front of him. The night air was chilling Torpenhow's
toes.
"Can you stay like that a minute?" he said. "I'll get my dressing-gown and some
slippers."
Dick clutched the bed-head with both hands and waited for the darkness to clear
away. "What a time you've been!" he cried, when Torpenhow returned. "It's as
black as ever. What are you banging about in the door-way?"
"Long chair,--horse-blanket,--pillow. Going to sleep by you. Lie down now;
you'll be better in the morning."
"I shan't!" The voice rose to a wail.


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