“A doctor,” she cried. “Damn you, damn you! A doctor! He told you the trap wasn’t working properly. If he dies, it will be you that has killed him.”
By now, several of the ladies of the company had joined the group round the prostrate clown.
“Hush, dear,” said one of them, “don’t say anything you may regret afterwards.”
Nancy did not answer this pacific woman, but bent low over her husband.
“My precious one, my precious one.”
The doctor came at last. When he had finished his examination, he shook his head.
“He is injured mortally.”
“Dying?” Nancy whispered.
“He can hardly live many more minutes with these injuries. Has he any relations here?”
“I am his wife.”