Sylvia leaned back
again, feeling rather sick. Certainly the pain was intense.
The rain was still battering on the roof with a sound like the
violent jingling together of tin cans, She listened to it with a
dull wonder. The violence of it would have made a deeper
impression upon her had she been suffering less. But she felt as
one immersed in an evil dream which clogged all her senses save
that of pain.
When Burke returned she was lying with closed eyes, striving hard
to keep herself under control. The clatter of the rain had abated
somewhat, and she heard him speak over his shoulder to someone
behind him. She looked up and saw an old Kaffir woman carrying a
basin.
"This is Mary Ann," said Burke, intercepting her glance of
surprise. "A useful old dog except when there is any dope about!
Hope you don't mind niggers."
"I shall get used to them," said Sylvia rather faintly.
"There's nothing formidable about this one," he said, "She can't
help being hideous. She is quite tame."
Sylvia tried to smile. Certainly Mary Ann was hideous, but her
lameness was equally obvious. She evidently stood in considerable
awe of her master, obeying his slightest behest with clumsy
solicitude and eyes that rolled unceasingly in his direction.
Burke kept her in the room while he bathed the injury. He was very
gentle, and Sylvia was soon conscious of relief.
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