He cursed her hideously, and a touch of unmerited compassion came upon her as she discovered how really helpless he was. So she held his head while he drained the last drop, and as it fell back he cursed her again, but began whining when she made off without a word.
"My back must be broken—I've no feeling in my legs. And you'd let me die alone!"
"Your own coin," said Moya, turning at her distance.
"It wasn't. I swear it wasn't. I swear to God I was only doing it to frighten you! I was going for help."
"How can you tell such lies?" asked Moya sternly.
"They're not, they're the solemn truth, so help me God!"
"You're only making them worse; own they are lies, or I'm off this minute."
"Oh, they are then, damn you!"
Only the oath was both longer and stronger.
"Swear again, and it won't be this minute, it'll be this very second!" cried Moya decisively. "So own, without swearing, that you did mean me to die of thirst, so far as you were concerned."