The wound was superficial.

The shot had torn a wide gash little deeper than the skin from wrist to shoulder, with here and there a bite into the flesh.

Swiftly, deftly, with fingers that never fumbled, she bandaged the arm, putting in little pads where the blood seemed to be pumping freely.
"That's fine," said Jack.

"You are a brick, Kathleen.

I think--I will--just lie down--a bit.