CHAPTER 20JENNY PARAINE met Powell as he ran up the stairs from the lobby. She had just come from Henry’s room and her eyes were red from tears or lack of sleep. She looked at him for a long instant, then stood aside so he could enter.
Henry Powell lay unmoving on the bed, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast against the translucent waxlike skin. His breathing was labored, and Horndyke bent over him. He turned at the sound of the major’s entrance and then relaxed a little.
“Don’t worry about the noise. He won’t hear you.”
Powell moved to the edge of the bed. “You mean he’s ...?”
“Not yet,” said the doctor. He dragged a pint bottle from his hip pocket, pulled out the cork, scrubbed the neck with the palm of his hand and extended it to Powell. “Take a little of this.”
Powell refu
