''Oh, Christ!'' he said again. ''Oh, Christ, I''m dying!'' In between the words, he moaned—a shuddering, chattering moan, that he could not help or stop. ''Oh, Jesus, save me!''
''There now,'' said Mrs Sucksby, touching his face. ''There now. Be brave. I''ve seen women lose blood like this, from a baby; and live to tell of it.''◤本◤作◤品◤由◤思◤兔◤在◤線◤閱◤讀◤網◤友◤整◤理◤上◤傳◤
''Not like this!'' he said. ''Not like this! I''m cut. How badly am I cut? Oh, Christ! I need a surgeon. Do I?''
''Bring him liquor,'' said Mrs Sucksby, to Dainty; but he shook his head.
''No liquor. A smoke, though. In my pocket, here.''
He dipped his chin to his waistcoat, and John fished in the folds and brought out a packet of cigarettes, and another of matches.
Half of the cigarettes were soaked with blood, but he found one that was dry, lit it at his own mouth, then put it in Gentleman''s.
''Good boy,'' said Gentleman, coughing. But he winced, and the cigarette fell. John caught it up in trembling fingers and set it back between his lips. He coughed again. More blood oozed up between his hands. Mrs Sucksby took the towel away and wrung it—wrung it as if it were filled with water. Gentleman began to shake.
''How d