She saw that a bullet had glanced on the bone and that the wound was not deep or dangerous.
She unlaced the hunting shirt at the neck and pulled the flaps apart.

There on the right breast, on a line with the apex of the lung, was a horrible gaping wound.

A murderous British slug had passed through the lad.

From the hole at every heart-beat poured the dark, crimson life-tide.

Mrs.Zane turned her white face away for a second; then she folded a small piece of linen, pressed it tightly over the wound, and wrapped a towel round the lad's breast.
"Don't waste time on me.