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My Lady of the North by Randall Parrish
page 63 of 375 (16%)
lashes. Skilfully the deep, jagged gash was bathed out, and then as
carefully bound up with the softest cloths she could find at hand. The
relief was great, and I felt, as I moved the shoulder, that saving the
soreness it would probably not greatly bother me.

"Now you must lie back and rest," she said command-ingly, as I
attempted to thank her. "Here, put your head on this cloak. But first
it will do you good to have more of the brandy, for you are as white as
death."

"Merely a slight faintness; and I will only consent to indulge provided
you partake first, for I know you require the stimulant as much as I,"
I retorted doggedly, gazing up into her face with an admiration she
could scarcely fail to perceive.

She lifted the flask to her lips and did not answer, but when she
handed it back to me there was a new flush upon her cheeks.

"And now as your nurse I command absolute quiet," striving to speak
gaily. "See, the daylight is already here, and I mean to discover if
this lone cabin contains anything which human beings can eat; I confess
that I am nearly famished."

"A most excellent symptom, and I imagine your quest will not be wholly
vain. To my eye that greatly resembles a slab of bacon hanging beside
the chimney."

"It indeed is," she exclaimed, "and I feel as a shipwrecked seaman must
on first beholding land."

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