"Do! I'm good at wounds.

Come over here.

No--stay there.

I'll come over to you." She did, bestriding the back of the middle seat and dropping at his side.

The magnetic fingers again touched his; he felt her warm breath on his neck as she bent toward him.
"It's nothing," he said, hastily, more agitated by the treatment than the wound.
"Give me your flask," she responded, without heeding.