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they gave him a little wine and water. He
was quite conscious, and maybe had been so
ever since he was struck by the shrapnel.
His eyes implored help. The Doctor sat at
his side, feeling as though he almost wanted
to beg his pardon for being so helpless. And
he did it. He spoke slowly and as distinctly
as he could, and he saw that the eyes
understood his words. He said that they would
soon get him a better bandage and a proper
tube to feed him with. He told him he would
then feel much better, and he promised to
help him to get some sleep. He would soon
feel stronger and breathe more easily, and he
would soon begin to get well again. He spoke
to the giant almost as one would speak to a
child, slowly repeating the same words again
and again:
“You will soon feel better, much better,
you are so tired; you will soon feel better,
your eyes are so tired, tired, your eyelids are
feeling so heavy, so heavy, you are so sleepy,
your eyes are closing, closing . . .
“Close your eyes!” said the Doctor,
touching the eyes with his fingers. “Close
your eyes!”
The unequal struggle between the strong,
sound will and the exhausted brain tortured
by pain lasted only a minute or two. The
eyelids remained closed, the breathing
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