Then he was not dead--not dead! Perhaps if I could get up, get him turned over, it might save his life.
The thought brought me strength.

Here was something worthy the effort -- and I made it, gritting my teeth grimly to the pain, and bracing my hands against the wall.

Once I had to stop, faint and sick, everything about swimming in mist; then I made the supreme effort, and turned over, my back against the wall, and Miles' ghastly face in my lap.

I sat staring at it, half demented, utterly helpless to do more, my own body throbbing with a thousand agonies.

Some poor devil shrieked, and I trembled and shook as though lashed by a whip.