"Lift her higher, man," he adjured Emile.
"There's only one pillow?--Then use this." He rolled up his coat, and
put it behind her head.
"We've done all we can now, and must just wait till this begins to
draw. It will make her uncomfortable, and we must watch that she
doesn't pull it off. Give me a cigarette if ye have one, Poleski.
'Tis hot work this."
He sat down on the bed and took up Arithelli's thin wrist. In his
shirt sleeves, with his hair well on end, and his robust voice very
little subdued below its usual pitch, Michael did not convey the
impression that he was capable of taking either Life or Death in a
serious spirit. He talked on gaily, in no way depressed by his
unsympathetic audience, telling tales of his own escapades in the
matter of fighting and love-making, of wild midnight steeplechases
ridden across unknown country, and the delights of the fair town by the
river Lee.
Once he stopped talking for a few minutes to boil some more water on
the stove that Arithelli sometimes used for making coffee, and to renew
the application of leaves.
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