"I shall not hurt you more than I can help."
She sank back again, shuddering uncontrollably. She knew now what he was
doing. It had flashed upon her in that moment of horrible suffering. He
was probing for a bullet in her left hand. Dumbly she shut her eyes and
set herself to endure.
But the pain was almost insupportable; it seemed to rack her whole body.
And the presence of the man she feared, his nearness to her, his touch,
added tenfold to the torture. Yet she was helpless, and, spent,
exhausted though she was, for very pride she would utter no complaint.
Minutes passed. She was near to fainting again, when abruptly Pierre
stood up. She heard him move, and she was conscious of a blessed
lessening of the pain. But she dared not stir or open her eyes, lest her
self-control should forsake her utterly. She could only lie and wait in
quivering suspense.
He bent over her without speaking, and suddenly she felt the rim of a
glass against her lips. With a start she looked up. His swarthy face was
close to her own, but it was grimly immobile. He seemed to have clad
himself from head to foot in an impenetrable armour of reserve. His lips
were set in a firm line, as though all speech were locked securely
behind them.
Mutely she obeyed his unspoken command and drank. The draught was unlike
anything she had ever tasted before. It revived her, renewing her
failing strength.
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