"He means right by you."
"You must lie quiet, or I'll not be responsible for the consequences,"
said the doctor firmly.
At these well-meant words Mother Borton raised herself on her elbow,
and directed a stream of profanity in the direction of the doctor that
sent chills chasing each other down my spine, and seemed for a minute
to dim the candle that gave its flickering gloom to the room.
"I'll talk as I please," cried Mother Borton. "It's my last wish, and
I'll have it. You tell me I'll live an hour or two longer if I'm quiet,
but I'll die as I've lived, a-doin' as I please, and have my say as
long as I've got breath to talk. Go out, now--all of you but this man.
Go!"
Mother Borton had raised herself upon one elbow; her face, flushed and
framed in her gray and tangled hair, was working with anger; and her
eyes were almost lurid as she sent fierce glances at one after another
of the men about her. She pointed a skinny finger at the door, and each
man as she cast her look upon him went out without a word.
"Shut the door, honey," she said quietly, lying down once more with a
satisfied smile. "That's it. Now me and you can talk cozy-like."
"You'd better not talk. Perhaps you will feel more like it to-morrow."
"There won't be any to-morrow for me," growled Mother Borton. "I've
seen enough of 'em carved to know when I've got the dose myself. Curse
that knife!" and she groaned at a twinge of pain.
"Who did it?"
"Black Dick--curse his soul.
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