She turned away with a sense of nausea, and then turned to him again with a kind of passionate longing to take him in her arms--brutal as she thought him, and unworthy of the affection she had once felt for him--felt still alas!--and all the romance she had once woven about him....

She saw that a fly was hovering over the excoriated arm and drew the ragged sleeve over its bareness.

Then she noticed the mosquito net reefed up on a hoop above the bunk, and managed to get the curtain down so that he should be protected from the assaults of insects.

But as she touched him in doing this, he stirred and muttered wrathfully in his sleep, as though he were conscious of her tenderness and would have none of it; she fled away and came to him no more.
She had been racking her brain since receiving the cablegram as to what answer she should return to it.
After that pitiable sight of her husband, Bridget moved restlessly about the house, with intervals of lassitude in the hammock, for she still felt weak and ill.

But quinine was keeping the fever down, and she resolved that her husband should not again be required to nurse her.