She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. She was practically destitute of jewellery. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. " "No. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. You are too credulous. She found it rather funny that he always wore the shirt fastidiously tucked in and never wore the ensemble without a stiff brown leather belt. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. ‘Possibly,’ he said.
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