Miss Sampson's hands trembled and her tears still fell, but neither interfered with her tender and skillful dressing of that bullet wound.
Steele certainly said a lot of crazy things.

"But why'd you come--why're you so good--when you don't love me ?" "Oh, but--I do--love you," whispered Miss Sampson brokenly.
"How do I know ?" "I am here.

I tell you." There was a silence, during which she kept on bathing his head, and he kept on watching her.

"Diane!" he broke out suddenly.
"Yes--yes." "That won't stop the pain in my head." "Oh, I hope so." "Kiss me--that will," he whispered.

She obeyed as a child might have, and kissed his damp forehead close to the red furrow where the bullet cut.
"Not there," Steele whispered.
Then blindly, as if drawn by a magnet, she bent to his lips.