"Oh, the poor thing," softly stroking it.
"And wing too, see? Better kill it."
"Oh, no, no! Poor thing," she cried, full of sympathy.
"What then? He must die. He starve."
"No, we can feed him."
"But he eat fish."
"So do we. There is plenty of fish. And you catch so many. Can't you do anything for him?"
Pablo lifted the leg again, and examined it.
"No—shot!" he exclaimed, shaking his head.
"Why couldn't you do it up in splints?"