"I'll be—all right in a minute. But Philip, if you stay here—"
"You're going with me!"
"Oh!"
I could carry her, if she could not run. But it would be slow; and it would be difficult to get her through the window. And on the street we would attract too much attention.
"Jetta, try to stand. Stamp your feet. I'll hold you."
I steadied her. Then I bent down, chafing her legs with my hands. Her arms had been limp, but the blood was in them now. She murmured with the tingling pain, and then bent over, frantically helping me rub the circulation back into her legs.
"Better?"
"Yes." She took a weak and trembling step.
"Wait. Let me rub them more, Jetta."
Precious minutes!