"They have set their minds on seeing me expire, and they're such
nice people I'm almost ashamed to disappoint them," she confided
to O'Reilly. "But really I'm too hungry to die. Now don't forget
to call me when dinner is ready."
"Honestly, do you feel all right?" he asked of her.
"Never better."
The meal was slow in coming, for not only were the cooking
arrangements primitive, but the apprehensive housewife could not
long remain away from the sick-room. She made frequent visits
thereto, and after each she reported in a whisper the condition of
the patient. The lady looked very white. ... Her breathing was
becoming slower. ... She was unconscious. ... All would soon be
over. ... It was better to let her pass painlessly to paradise
than to torture her with useless remedies. Realizing that the
poison had at last begun to work, the men tip-toed to the door and
peered in compassionately, whereupon the sufferer roused herself
sufficiently to call them "a lot of rubber-necks" and bid them
begone.
"Her mind wanders," explained the man of the house; and then to
cheer O'Reilly he added, "She is young and strong; she may linger
until evening."
The meal was set at last, however; the men were stealthily
attacking it. Suddenly the sick woman swept out from her retreat
and sat down among them.
"Senorita! This is suicide!" they implored.
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