‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. He was now within a foot of the bar, and introducing himself into the hole, speedily worked his way to it. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead.
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