The pipe had fallen from her lips; there was blood on the stem.
"Did yer jam yer tongue?" he asked.
She always ignored trifles, he knew, therefore he passed her silence.
He told her that her dress was on fire. She took no heed. He put it out, and looked at the burnt arm, then with intentness at her.
Her eyes were turned unblinkingly to the heavens, her lips were grimly apart, and a strange greyness was upon her face, and the sweat-beads were mixing.
"Like a drink er tea? Asleep?"
He broke a green branch from the fallen tree and swished from his face the multitudes of flies that had descended with it.
In a heavy way he wondered why did she sweat, when she was not working? Why did she not keep the flies out of her mouth and eyes? She'd have bungy eyes, if she didn't. If she was asleep, why did she not close them?
But asleep or awake, as the billy began to boil, he left her, made the tea, and ate his dinner. His dog had disappeared, and as it did not come to his whistle, he threw the pieces to hers, that would not leave her head to reach them.
