He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. This was enough for the poor widow. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I'm about to leave this country for ever. He fell backwards on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. . ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. I speak frankly, because you also know that no possible extremity would induce me to accept help from any living person. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. I’ll be ready in a moment. .
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