She had come to the end of her resources. Speak lower. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. Now, will you stand aside?" "I won't," answered Jack, obstinately. Good riddance to bad rubbish.
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