She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. It’s on the horse. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing.
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