Afaintvoicedriftedthroughtheirondoor—weak,yettingingwithasubtlesoftness,likeasoftfeatherbrushinglightlyagainsthisear.

        Withacreak,theheavydoorswungopenoncemore.

        "Whatisit?"heasked.

        Reyaliftedherhead,slumpedweaklyagainstthewall.Hersweat-soakedhairgtoherforehead,andhereyeswerehazy,fever-bright,asifshewerelostindelirium.

        Shelickedherlipsandspokeinasoft,breathyvoice,"I''''''''mnotfeelingwell...I''''''''msweatingallover...myclothesaresoaked.Couldyouhelpme?"

        Themanagerfrowned."Didn''''''''tyoutakethemedie?"

        Hisgazeswepttheroomaheuylenoltossedaside.Hisvoicesharpened."Igaveyoumedie,andyoudidn''''''''ttakeit.Areyoupnningtodiehere?"

        Reyadidn''''''''tanswer.Herbreathscamesoftandshallow,herhalf-liddedgazeholdingastrangeallure—seductiveandsicklyatonce,impossibletoread.Wasshetrulyburningwithfever,orwasthissomekindofact?

        Themanagerswallowedhard,thenturhebathroom.Whenhecameback,hecrouchedinfrontofher,toweldrippinginhisglovedhand.

        Hisgazedrifteddown,logonthepalelineofhercolrbopeekedfromtheneeofherdampT-shirt.Whenhispalmpressedagainstherskihroughtheglovehefelttheunnaturalheatradiatingfromherbody.

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