"David, you're half dead. Every thing'll be ready in a minute. Sit
down and rest. Here, take my blanket."
She spread her blanket for him, but he stood still, not answering,
staring at her with dull, accusing eyes. Then, with a dazed movement,
he pushed his hand over the crown of his head throwing off his hat.
The hand was unsteady, and it fell, the hooked forefinger catching in
the opening of his shirt, dragging it down and showing his bony breast.
If he had been nothing to her she would have pitied him. Sense of
wrongs done him made the pity passionate. She went to him, the
consoling woman in her eyes, and laid her hand on the one that rested
on his chest.
"David, sit down and rest. Don't move again. I'll get you everything.
I never saw you look as you do to-night."
With an angry movement he threw her hand off.
"You don't care," he said. "What does it matter to you when you've
been comfortable all day? So long as you and the others are all right
I don't matter."
It was so unlike him, his face was so changed and charged with a
childish wretchedness, that she felt no check upon her sympathy.
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