"I'd rather starve!" quoth I, sitting up the better to say it.
"Starve!" she repeated, with a scornful flash of her great eyes. "You? d'ye know what starvation means? Ha' you ever tried it?"
"No," I admitted, "but none the less—"
"Then don't talk foolishness!" said she disdainfully. "You'll be glad t' eat an' ask no questions when you're hungry enough! And don't go pitying yourself and grieving over your bruises. If your eyes are bulged and blacked a bit—what of it? Lord! I've seen men get it worse than you an' come up smiling, but then to be sure they were men and stronger than you. However, you'll be better to-morrow! So now go to sleep and forget all about yourself if ye can—sleep till supper's ready and when I say eat—eat."
"Many thanks, but I do not desire any supper."
"Wait till you smell it!"
"I shall neither smell it nor eat it," I answered, frowning, "because
I propose to rid you of my presence almost immediately."
"Meaning as you will cut your stick?"
"Certainly not! I mean that I shall take my departure just so soon as
I find myself sufficiently recovered."
"Why, then," said she, compressing her lips and jutting her round chin at me in highly unfeminine fashion, "you'll have to jump or fly."