So she went back to the young man. He was lying as she had left him, propped against the dike, panting and very pale. He had opened his coat and had a little bag, from which he was taking out strips of cloth and a bottle of something. And again he spoke, and again she understood nothing. Then he made signs, and she saw it was water that he wanted, so she picked up one of many broken pots that had been blown around the street. Then, going up the dike, she filled it with water and brought it down again and washed his wound. She tore off the strips that he had made from the rolls of bandaging. He knew how to put the cloth over the gaping wound. He made signs to her, and she followed these signs. All the time he was trying to tell her something, but she could understand nothing.
“You must be from the South, sir,” she said. It was easy to see that he had no education. He looked very clever. “I have heard that your language is different from ours.” She laughed a little to put him at ease, but he only stared at her darkly and gloomily. So she said brightly, “Now if I could find something for us to eat, it would be nice.”