“You'd better take your coat off first, sir.”
She helped him get it off; unbuttoned his waistcoat; untied his white bow. He had to unbutton the collar himself, holding all the while to his folded envelope.
“It's astonishing how weak I am—”
“Oh, Mr. Mann, you're bleeding to death!” The girl began weeping.
“I'm not bleeding to death! That's nonsense! Don't you talk like that to me—keep your head shut! It's nothing at all. I'll be all right. Just a few minutes.”
“Oh, Mr. Mann—”
Peter glanced nervously toward the door. “Shut up!” he whispered huskily.
She got the studs out of his shirt, and opened it. Beneath, his singlet was dripping red. She drew in a spasmodic long breath, with a whistling sound.
“Now, for God's sake, don't you go and faint!” said he. “I tell you it's nothing—nothing at all.”
She was crying now.