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Love-o’-Women
by
“Love-o’-Women stud still in the sun widout answerin’. Thin he groaned an’ coughed to wanst, an’ I thought ’twas the death- rattle, but he niver tuk his eyes off her face not for a wink. Ye cud ha’ put her eyelashes through the flies av an E. P. tent, they were so long.
“‘Fwhat do you do here?’ she sez, word by word, ‘that have taken away my joy in my man this five years gone – that have broken my rest an’ killed my body an’ damned my soul for the sake av seem’ how ’twas done? Did your expayrience aftherwards bring you acrost any woman that gave more than I did? Wud I not ha’ died for you an’ wid you, Ellis? Ye know that, man! If ever your lyin’ sowl saw truth in uts life ye know that.’
“An’ Love-o’-Women lifted up his head and said, ‘I knew,’ an’ that was all. While she was spakin’ the Power hild him up parade-set in the ‘sun, an the sweat dhropped undher his helmet. ‘Twas more an’ more throuble for him to talk, an’ his mouth was runnin’ twistways.
“Fwhat do you do here?’ she sez, an’ her voice whit up. ‘Twas like bells tollin’ before. ‘Time was whin you were quick enough wid your words, – you that talked me down to hell. Are ye dumb now?’ An’ Love-o’-W omen got his tongue, an’ sez simple, like a little child, ‘May I come in?’ he sez.
“The house is open day an’ night,’ she sez, wid a laugh; an’ Love- o’-Women ducked his head an’ hild up his hand as tho’ he was gyardin’. The Power was on him still – it hild him up still, for, by my sowl, as I’ll never save ut, he walked up the verandah steps that had been a livin’ corpse in hospital for a month!
“‘An’ now’?’ she sez, lookin’ at him; an’ the red paint stud lone on the white av her face like a bull’s-eye on a target.
“He lifted up his eyes, slow an’ very slow, an’ he looked at her long an’ very long, an’ he tuk his spache betune his teeth wid a wrench that shuk him.
“‘I’m dyin’, Aigypt – dyin’,’ he sez; ay, those were his words, for I remimber the name he called her. He was turnin’ the death- colour, but his eyes niver rowled. They were set – set on her. Widout word or warnin’ she opened her arms full stretch, an’ ‘Here!’ she sez. (Oh, fwhat a golden mericle av a voice ut was!) ‘Die here,’ she sez; an’ Love-o’-Women dhropped forward, an’ she hild him up, for she was a fine big woman.
“I had no time to turn, bekaze that minut I heard the sowl quit him – tore out in the death-rattle – an’ she laid him back in a long chair, an’ she sez to me, ‘Misther soldier,’ she sez, ‘will ye not go in an’ talk to wan av the girls. This sun’s too much for him.’
“Well I knew there was no sun he’d iver see, but I cud not spake, so I wint away wid the empty doolie to find the docthor. He’d been breakfastin’ an’ lunchin’ ever since we’d come in, an’ he was as full as a tick.
“Faith ye’ve got dhrunk mighty soon,’ he sez, whin I’d tould him, ‘to see that man walk. Barrin’ a puff or two av life, he was a corpse before we left Jumrood. I’ve a great mind,’ he sez, ‘to confine you.’
“There’s a dale av liquor runnin’ about, docthor,’ I sez, solemn as a hard-boiled egg. ‘Maybe ’tis so, but will ye not come an’ see the corpse at the house?’
“Tis dishgraceful,’ he sez, ‘that I would be expected to go to a place like that. Was she a pretty woman?” he sez, an’ at that he set off double quick.
“I cud see that the two was in the verandah were I’d left them, an’ I knew by the hang av her head an’ the noise av the crows fwhat had happened. ‘Twas the first and the last time that I’d ever known woman to use the pistol. They dread the shot as a rule, but Di’monds-an’-Pearls she did not – she did not.