Her voice gained strength and Rowland soothed her gently.
"You must be quiet, Zoya. They have been here--over the roofs--but they went away again. They won't come back----"
"But he--he--is--is the devil incarnate----"
Her eyes stared at the wall above her--as at a specter of their enemy. The terror of last night had come over her again.
"Quite so. I agree with you. But I'm no longer alarmed. Why should you be? A swallow of water--and then sleep again, Zoya. You're going to be quite all right."
"I was shot----"
"Through the arm-pit--nothing serious. A few days and----"
"Whose room is this?" she asked suddenly, looking round at the bare walls and shabby furniture.
"A friend's. A Samaritan, Zoya. He has nursed you while I slept--a stranger----"
"Oh," she gave a little shrug and turned her face toward the wall. He poured out a glass of water and brought it to her. She drank it eagerly and then sank back with a sigh.