“Is Coke okay?” He asked as he pulled into the gas station. Brendon was silent. “Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. A little smothered cry broke from her lips—the curtains were thrown aside and a man stepped out. His idea was to get behind this sustained listlessness. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. Get all ready for his reception. It was his heart. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing.
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