This time the ogre-like face came into focus, and
Desmond saw a man with a tumbler in his hand bending over him.
"That's right," said the man, looking very intently at him, "feel
a bit better, eh? Got a bit of a crack, what? Just take a
mouthful of brandy... I've got it here!"
Desmond obediently swallowed the contents of the glass that the
other held to his lips. He was feeling horribly weak, and very
cold. His collar and shirt were unbuttoned, and his neck and
shoulders were sopping wet with water. On his ears still fell the
wailing of the woman.
"Corporal," said the man bending over him, "just go and tell that
old hag to hold her noise! She'll have to go out of the house if
she can't be quiet!"
Desmond opened his eyes again. He was lying on the settee in the
library. A tall figure in khaki, who had been stirring the fire
with his boot, turned at the doctor's summons and left the room.
On the table the lamp was still burning but its rays were
neutralized by the glare of a crimson dawn which Desmond could
see flushing the sky through the shattered panes of the French
window. In the centre of the floor lay a long object covered by a
tablecloth, beside it a table overturned with a litter of broken
glass strewn about the carpet.
The woman's sobbing ceased.
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