In a place where it is difficult to surprise people, they were
astonished women as they removed the Angel's dainty stained and torn
clothing, drew off hose muck-baked to her limbs, soaked the dried loam
from her silken hair, and washed the beautiful scratched, bruised,
dirt-covered body. The Angel fell fast asleep long before they had
finished, and lay deeply unconscious, while the fight for Freckles' life
was being waged.
Three days later she was the same Angel as of old, except that Freckles
was constantly in her thoughts. The anxiety and responsibility that
she felt for his condition had bred in her a touch of womanliness and
authority that was new. That morning she arose early and hovered near
Freckles' door. She had been allowed to remain with him constantly, for
the nurses and surgeons had learned, with his returning consciousness,
that for her alone would the active, highly strung, pain-racked sufferer
be quiet and obey orders. When she was dropping from loss of sleep, the
threat that she would fall ill had to be used to send her to bed.
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