love, my love, I've killed you!" she said in helpless little moans as she struggled to knot the bandage tight over the well-wrapped wrist-bone.
It reminded her of her aeronantical days of old. And she tried to tell herself to be calm, and to remember what one should do in such cases. She even slipped a hand over his heart, and found it to be beating, and summoned up the courage to study his face. On his left temple she noticed a lump, almost as big as a shirred egg, and a subsidiary small pain shot through her as she remembered how much it looked like the lump Gunboat Dorgan had once brought out on Raoul Uhlan's pallid forehead. She was brushing the dusty hair back from this slowly discoloring lump when she awakened for the first time to the knowledge that the driver of the motor-truck was not only standing there beside her, but addressing her in none too commiserative tones.
"Yuh've kilt him, all right, lady! Yuh've kilt him, and I s'pose yuh're satisfied!"
