Explore "Lost Horizon" by James Hilton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They reached the balconied room where they had meals, Mallinson still clutching his arm and half-dragging him along. “Come on, Conway, we’ve till dawn to pack what we can and get away. Great news, man — I wonder what old Barnard and Miss Brinklow will think in the morning when they find us gone . . . Still, it’s their own choice to stay, and we’ll probably get on far better without them . . . The porters are about five miles beyond the pass — they came yesterday with loads of books and things . . . tomorrow they begin the journey back . . . It just shows how these fellows here intended to let us down — they never told us — we should have been stranded here for God knows how much longer . . . I say, what’s the matter? Are you ill?”
Conway had sunk into a chair, and was leaning forward with elbows on the table. He passed his hand across his eyes. “Ill? No. I don’t think so. Just — rather — tired.”