Once there she has to go with him down the narrow woodland path, there being no other, and so paces on, silently, and sorely against her will.,
"What is it?" she says, fearfully, and then, "Your coat is wet—I feel it. Oh Geoffrey, look at your shirt. It is blood!" Her tone is full of horror. "What have they done to you?" she says, pitifully. "You are hurt, wounded!",
"None; none. It would be useless to say otherwise. Internal hemorrhage has set in. A few hours, perhaps less, must end it. He knows it himself, poor boy!".
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