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"It's very well you don't try to console me; it wouldn't be in your power," she heard him say through the medium of her strange elation. "I hoped we should meet again, because I had no fear you would attempt to make me feel I had wronged you. But when you do that the pain's greater than the pleasure." And she got up with a small conscious majesty, looking for her companions.
"Of course one must. You're very tired," said Isabel. "I'm very tired. You said just now that pain's not the deepest thing. No no. But it's very deep. If I could stay " "For me you'll always be here," she softly interrupted. It was easy to interrupt him. But he went on, after a moment: "It passes, after all; it's passing now. But love remains. I don't know why we should suffer so much.
But I know myself too well to hope for happiness in the gay frivolous insincere world, where I have fluttered out my butterfly existence of fashionable emptiness. 'I kissed the painted bloom off Pleasure's lips And found them pale as Pain's. I have bruised and singed my Psyche wings, and le beau monde has no new, strong pinions to replace those beat out in its hard tyrannous service.
The voice broke; it had really become a feverish babble of excitement now pain's wild excitement. "Well! What was I saying yes! I didn't ring the bell because I hadn't made up my mind whether I wanted to claim any share of my brother's fortune, or not; you see he hadn't been very fair to me in youth taking away my sweetheart. None of my family had for that matter!
Wolff, the missionary, counted on Mount Lebanus, thirteen large and ancient cedars, besides the numerous small ones, in the whole 387 trees. The largest of these trees was about 15 feet high, not one-third of the height of hundreds of English cedars; for instance, those at Whitton, Pain's Hill, Caenwood, and Juniper Hall, near Dorking. Leeches.
So she's sort of 'between the de'il and the deep sea. And touchy is no name for it. She doesn't like it if you don't and she doesn't like it if you do; but you can't wonder when the pain's so bad. It's pretty near lumbago."
"Sorry about the service, mister. Full house tonight." "That's quite all right." Corson touched the broken leg. "I can give you a shot if the pain's hitting too hard." "It does not pain." "Stout fellow." Frank Corson probed with fingers that were growing more expert day by day. "Good clean break. Not swelling, either." He touched the patient's wrist, then put a stethoscope to his chest.
He has lost a leg, he has a deep wound in his back which won't heal, which is draining his life away poor, poor John S ! Close by is a short, plain man, with a look of fevered and patient endurance that haunts one now to think of. "It's my eyes. I'm afraid they're getting worse. I was hit in the head, you see. Yes, the pain's bad sometimes."
'Shepherd, he sez, 'I'm starvin'. Can you get me a bit of summat as I can eat? 'What would you like? I sez. He sez, 'I want baccy and buttermilk. For God's sake, get me some buttermilk. It's the only thing as I feel 'ud keep down; and the pain's that awful it a'most tears me to shreds.
Pain trembled in his weary limbs, Pain filled his patient eye, Pain-crushed amid the shadowy fern His branchy crown did lie. Where were his comrades? where his mate? All from his death-bed gone! And he, thus struck and desolate, Suffered and bled alone. Did he feel what a man might feel, Friend-left, and sore distrest? Did Pain's keen dart, and Grief's sharp sting Strive in his mangled breast?
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