“Haarlem oil, English salt....”
“And we put his feet in bran water.”
Virginie stood thinking.
“Have you any linseed-meal?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then ... but it’s too late now, any way....”
And she looked into the sick man’s eyes again.
“He’s very far gone,” thought Mite.
“Got worse quickly,” said Barbara.
Zalia said nothing; she stood at the foot of the bed, looking at her husband and then at the women who were saying what they thought of him.