Explore "The Lust of Hate" by Guy Boothby on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
WHEN I recovered consciousness I found a stranger dressed in uniform kneeling beside me. What was more singular still I was not under the waggon as before, but was lying surrounded by a dozen or so of my comrades in the verandah of my own house. Agnes was kneeling beside me, and her father was holding a basin of water at my feet.
"There is nothing at all to be alarmed about, my dear young lady," the man in uniform was saying as he felt my pulse. "Your friend here will live to fight another day, or a hundred other days for that matter. By this time to-morrow he'll be as well as ever." Then, turning to me, he asked: "how do you feel now?"