She wasn't even sure what was the matter, but I dragged it out of her. I thought she was looking kind of peaked."
Then the door opened, and Emma and Naomi came in together. Naomi crossed to the bed, and, bending over Philip, said, "Here's the water, Philip." He stirred and she put her arm under his head while he drank. It seemed to him that all his body was alive with fire.
When he had finished, Naomi did an extraordinary thing. She flung herself down and burying her head against his thin chest, she began to sob wildly, crying out, shamelessly before Emma and Mabelle, "You mustn't be sick, Philip. You mustn't die . . . I couldn't live without you now. You're all I've got. . . . No . . . no . . . you mustn't die." She clung to him with terrifying and shameless passion. "I couldn't live without you . . . I couldn't . . . I couldn't . . . I'll never . . . leave you." Her long, pale hair came unfastened and fell-about her shoulders, covering them both. "I'll never leave you. I'll do whatever you want."
It was Emma who seized her by force and dragged her off him; Emma who, shaking her, said in a voice that was horrible in its hatred, "You fool! Do you want to make him worse? Do you want to kill him?"
And Naomi cried out, "He's mine now. He's mine! You tried to poison him against me. You can't take him away from me any more. He belongs to me!"
It was horrible, but to Philip the scene had no reality; it came to him through the haze of his fever, as if it had been only an interlude of delirium.
When Naomi grew a little more calm, Aunt Mabelle said to her in a whisper, "I told him."
