I stopped in a fright.

“Repeat them,” she murmured in a heart-broken tone. 'I want — I want — something — something — to — to live with.”

“I was on the point of crying at her, 'Don't you hear them?” The dusk was repeating them in a persistent whisper all around us, in a whisper that seemed to swell menacingly like the first whisper of a rising wind. 'The horror! The horror!”

“His last word — to live with,” she insisted. 'Don't you understand I loved him — I loved him — I loved him!”

“I pulled myself together and spoke slowly.

“The last word he pronounced was — your name.”