She tries, but she jest gurgles in her throat.

The perfessor won't let her fall acrost Henry.
He ketches her.

"Sit up, Jane," he says, with that Estelle look onto his face, "and let us have a talk." She looks at him with no more sense in her face than a piece of putty has got.

But she can't look away from him.
And I'm kind o' paralyzed, too.

If that feller laying on the floor had only jest kicked oncet, or grunted, or done something, I could of loosened up and yelled, and I would of.