Roxie moved a little. “You’re cold?” she asked anxiously. “No. Are you?” “Cold--here?” “The fire is going out,” he answered. “I’ll poke around and see if I can’t find a blanket.” “Please don’t,” she pleaded. But he rose abruptly. He needed to be on his feet. Instantly she rose, too. “He’ll git yuh through the winder.” “You stay here,” he ordered. “Mister Allston!” He moved down the hallway towards one of the side rooms. She followed. “Stay where you are,” he commanded. She obeyed, but her lips began to tremble. She did not want to let him out of her sight. She was afraid lest the dark might swallow him up forever. She was none too sure of him now. The fairy book might close at any moment and the story end. But he came back with his arms full of blankets torn from the bed--clean new blankets which Bud had bought within a week. He spread one down upon the floor for her to lie on. “Perhaps you can get a little sleep in the next few hours,” he suggested. “Only I don’ wanter sleep,” she answered. “Lie down, anyway.” “What you goneter do?” “I’m going to cover you up.” “And then?” “I’m going to think, Roxie. I’m going to think hard.” “Here?” “Here beside you.” “All right.” She lay down prone upon her back and he covered her as he might have covered a child. “You’ll save one blanket for yuhself?” she asked. “I don’t need any.” “Please. It’ll be cold afore mornin’.” To quiet her he threw one over his shoulders and resumed his place near her. She reached for his hand, found it, and grasped one finger. So she thought she held him safe. It was well enough for her to think so during those next few hours. It brought her comfort and did no harm to any one. Yet, tight as she gripped that finger, he--though she did not know it--instantly slipped away. She had no more of him than a few hours before Bud had had of her. But it was the feel of her warm hand that made Allston realize that the difference between life and death is not so crudely simple as the difference between mobility and immobility. That distinction satisfied the God of War. He was content with incapacity. Ineffectiveness was death. He even preferred total disability because it turned a man from an asset into a liability, though still able to feel and to think. But the God of Peace, when He marked a man, did not stop here. He demanded annihilation. With the body must go all the emotions and all the thoughts. A man to be dead must be dead all over--must be resolved into his elements. Nothing must be left of him on this planet except a memory. And that faded as rapidly as an unfinished print.