"Yes. Come and rest beside me," she said.
He went away, climbing over the statue and out through the hole in the
vault. Just before he disappeared, he held up his lantern and looked
towards her. She was watching him.
"Good-night," he said. "Try to sleep a little."
"Come back soon," she answered faintly, and smiled.
Presently he was at work again, steadily driving the bar against the
hard bricks, steadily chipping away a little at a time, steadily
making progress against the enormous obstacle. The only question was
whether his strength would last, for if he had been able to get food,
it would have been merely a matter of time. A crowbar does not wear
down much on bricks.
At first, perfectly mechanical work helps a man to think, as walking
generally does; but little by little it dulls the faculties and makes
thought almost impossible. Senseless words begin to repeat themselves
with the movement, fragments of tunes fit themselves to the words, and
play a monotonous and exasperating music in the brain, till a man has
the sensation of having a hurdy-gurdy in his head, though he may be
working for his life, as Malipieri was. Yet the unchanging repetition
makes the work easier, as a sailor's chanty helps at the topsail
halliards.
"We must get out before we starve, we must get out before we starve,"
sang the regular blows of the bar to a queer little tune which
Malipieri had never heard.
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