That way, like Cranston'-- he nodded in the direction of the house across the street--'or worse--or worse,' he clung to the word on a lift of his voice, as though he found some protection in it, as though he appealed to Clarice to agree with and second him, 'or worse.' The match burned down to his fingers, and he dropped it on the floor and set his foot on it.

Once in the darkness he repeated 'or worse,' with a note almost of despair, and then he was silent.

Clarice simply waited.
She stood, feeling the darkness throb about her, listening to the sharp irregular breathing which told her where Drake stood.

In a few moments he stirred, and she stretched out her hands towards him.

But again she heard the click of a match-box, and again the thin flame of light flared up in the room.
'Clarice!' Her name was shouted up a second time.