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Page 109
"It is morning," said Joan.
At the sound of her voice there came within him an extraordinary
fusing, at once a pain and a delight . . . fragments of memory . . . a
moonbeam . . . tears . . . the crackle of a fire . . . a quarry
mist . . . the glory of stars . . . a meaning . . . a motive that
startled and defied him.
"There should be moonlight on your hair," said Brian, drifting slowly
back to a knowledge of reality and pain.
"Moonlight?"
"You are Joan."
"Yes. At least until Doctor Cole finds someone else, I am at times
your nurse. The pain, Brian?" She bent over him, straightening a
pillow, touching his forehead with cool, questioning fingers.
"Not worse," said Brian.
"I am glad."
"There was a purple cloud," he said, frowning.
"The drug. Doctor Barrington wanted you to sleep."
"And the geranium?" His eyes sought it with relief.
"Kenny found it. Grogan's wife had it in her window. I think he must
have bullied her a little--"
"Bless him! . . . Where's the mirror?"
"Downstairs. I'm sleeping there."
"Thank God!" He closed his eyes, his color ebbing. "This plaster
cast," he apologized, "is like a suit of armor. It bothers me."
"Poor fellow! . . . Can you eat?"
"Not--yet. . . . Who's cooking?"
"Sometimes Don; sometimes I--unless the doctor sends me here.
Once--Kenny."
Brian smiled.
"You are very good," he said simply.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE PENITENT
Brian's skull was young and elastic. It saved him much, but Barrington
lingered until the period of suspense was at an end. Kenny drove him
to the Finlake station.
"This car has been a godsend," he said.
"And Garry's wired me to keep it. He's going to the coast."
"When?"
"Thursday."
Kenny's eyes were moist and grateful.
"Ah, Frank, darlin', you're a jewel!"
"Piffle!" countered Frank. "Kenny, old dear, I think you hit a
chicken. If at any time," he added at the station, "you feel the need
of me, I want you to wire. He's bound to be nervous. And if his
convalescence seems slow and irksome, remember that the reaction of a
shock like that isn't merely physical."
Kenny wrung his hand in silence. He motored home, oppressed by the
bare line of hills and the noise of the quarry.
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