“I’m feelin’ that queer,” said the woman. “It’s the sight o’ blood allus mikes me queer.”
“You must let me help you,” said the suffragette. “You must let me put you on your bed.”
The woman laughed and remained swaying in the doorway.
“Bedder standen’ ...” she mumbled hysterically.
She was an enormous woman, and effectually blocked the doorway. For one mad moment the suffragette meditated climbing over her. An obstacle always had an irresistible fascination for her.
“Don’t be so silly,” said the suffragette. “Let me come in at once. I am here to help. Stand aside.”
The woman laughed again, and her head suddenly lolled down upon her breast. A little drip of blood ran down upon the floor.
“You are making a mess on the floor,” said the suffragette.
There was a magic in the words. I suppose their power lay in their utter futility. The woman stood aside.
“Now let me get you to bed,” said the suffragette as she entered. But there was no bed.