Jeanne suffered more anguish than Marvel did. She was so angry even the taste in her mouth was sour. She was so bitter that every conscious thought was pure misery. Always when Marvel had gotten ill, Jeanne had had to deliberately keep herself from letting Marvel see her cry. This time she couldn't cry. She was gentle and tender with Marvel, of course, but she felt that inside she had a leaden weight where her heart used to be. With an effort she made herself be courteous and grateful to Dr. Eames. He stayed all night the first night, and tried various things to help Marvel keep down the medicines. He gave her sips of barley water, he tried rice gruel, he tried ginger tea, but nothing worked. Finally they were only able to give Marvel small chips of ice to hold in her mouth. She was always desperately thirsty, but if she took even tiny sips of water it came right back up. At last the dawn came. Jeanne had sat in the armchair all night, her eyes wide and gritty, never feeling the least bit sleepy.
