"Shot right in here, through the edge of
the bone. When I tripped and fell, there in the hall, I broke the
bone short off--it was only nicked at first."
"And you have been standing here, talking to me, with _that_?" She
stepped to him swiftly and placed a hand under his arm. "You must
go in. Come. Can you walk?"
Through his nerves, racked as they were, there swept a flood of
joy, more sweet than that of any drug. He could see the blown hair
about her ears, see the round of her neck, the curve of her body as
she bent to aid him, putting her free arm under his, forgetful of
everything in her woman's wish to allay suffering, to brood, to
protect, to increase life. They passed through the door toward the
foot of the stairs. Here she turned to him.
"The pain is very great?" she inquired.
"The pain at thinking of your going away is very great," he
answered. One hand on the newel post, he bent down, his head on
his arm for an instant. "Oh, you're making me _pay_!" he groaned.
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