"You mean that I must make my own guess?"
She nodded.
"Or get it out of St. Pierre?"
"If St. Pierre wishes to tell you, yes."
"Well--" He leaned a little toward her. "After that you dragged me
up into the shade, dressed my wound and made me comfortable. In a
hazy sort of way I knew what was going on. And a curious thing
happened. At times--" he leaned still a little nearer to her--"at
times--there seemed to be two of you!"
He was not looking at her hands, or he would have seen her fingers
slowly tighten in her lap.
"You were badly hurt," she said. "It is not strange that you
should have imagined things, M'sieu David."
"And I seemed to hear two voices," he went on.
She made no answer, but continued to look at him steadily.
"And the other had hair that was like copper and gold fire in the
sun. I would see your face and then hers, again and again--and--
since then--I have thought I was a heavy load for your hands to
drag up through that sand to the shade alone."
She held up her two hands, looking at them. "They are strong," she
said.
"They are small," he insisted, "and I doubt if they could drag me
across this floor.
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