“I didn’t want Charmian to know.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Doctor,” said Mary, “if you ever tell Charmian that I said what I’m going to say I’ll never, never speak to you again. It hurts like hell! There—now you know, I guess.”
“Well, for the love of Mike!” gasped Shonto. “Let me help you into your tent. Strip to the waist in there, while I rummage through the pack for my supplies.”
“I don’t need your help,” snapped Mary. “You forget that my ankle isn’t sprained. I can walk, but I can’t crawl. And we’re getting close to the crawling ground, Henry tells me.”
“Oh, I understand,” said Shonto.
Nevertheless he helped her to her feet and held her arm as she walked slowly and painfully to her and Charmian’s tent. The doctor pawed through the pack, found his medicine case, and brought forth a tin spool of wide adhesive plaster. A little later, stripped to the waist and blushing furiously, Mary Temple came from the tent and stood before him.
Shonto’s skilful fingers kneaded her torso as gently as possible, but Mary’s lips were colourless and beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead.
“That hurt?”
“Humph! Of course!”