“You’re all right, Cat,” I said. “You’re going to be all right.”
“I’m going to die,” she said; then waited and said, “I hate it.”
I took her hand.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. I let go of her hand. She smiled. “Poor darling. You touch me all you want.”
“You’ll be all right, Cat. I know you’ll be all right.”
“I meant to write you a letter to have if anything happened, but I didn’t do it.”
“Do you want me to get a priest or any one to come and see you?”
“Just you,” she said. Then a little later, “I’m not afraid. I just hate it.”
“You must not talk so much,” the doctor said.
“All right,” Catherine said.