"Gwan," he said; "I ain't no boob dude. Cut out de mush.
Lemme be. Beat it!"
Hurt, more than she would have cared to admit, Barbara
Harding turned away from her ungrateful and ungracious
patient, to repeat her ministrations to the Frenchman. The
mucker read in her expression something of the wound his
words had inflicted, and he lay thinking upon the matter for
some time, watching her deft, white fingers as they worked
over the scarce breathing Theriere.
He saw her wash the blood and dirt from the ghastly
wound in the man's chest, and as he watched he realized what
a world of courage it must require for a woman of her stamp
to do gruesome work of this sort. Never before would such a
thought have occurred to him. Neither would he have cared at
all for the pain his recent words to the girl might have
inflicted. Instead he would have felt keen enjoyment of her
discomfiture.
And now another strange new emotion took possession of
him. It was none other than a desire to atone in some way for
his words. What wonderful transformation was taking place in
the heart of the Kelly gangster?
"Say!" he blurted out suddenly.
Barbara Harding turned questioning eyes toward him. In
them was the cold, haughty aloofness again that had marked
her cognizance of him upon the Halfmoon--the look that had
made his hate of her burn most fiercely.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195