“Mr. Randall,” she said, “I’m sure—oh, please stop the car! I know you’re hurt!”
“Would you care, if I were?”
“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, I would care! Oh, please don’t go on! Stop the car, and let me see!”
But he went on along the smooth, empty road, not driving fast now, but very, very carefully.
“It would be worth a bullet through the head,” he said, “to hear you speak like that! But I’m not hurt—I’m—not—”
His labored voice almost broke her heart.
“Sambo!” she cried. “Please, please let me see! Stop! Stop!”
He did stop then. He put his arm about her, and drew her close to him.
“My little darling!” he said. “My little blessed angel! For you to care like this!”
She let her head rest against his shoulder. She let him kiss her pale, cold cheek. Then she began to sob.