“Poor darling,” Catherine said very softly. She looked gray.
“You’re all right, Cat,” I said. “You’re going to be all right.”
“I’m going to die,” she said; then waited and said, “I hate it.”
I took her hand.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. I let go of her hand. She smiled. “Poor darling. You touch me all you want.”
“You’ll be all right, Cat. I know you’ll be all right.”
“I meant to write you a letter to have if anything happened, but I didn’t do it.”
“Do you want me to get a priest or any one to come and see you?”
“Just you,” she said. Then a little later, “I’m not afraid. I just hate it.”
“You must not talk so much,” the doctor said.
“All right,” Catherine said.
“Do you want me to do anything, Cat? Can I get you anything?”
Catherine smiled, “No.” Then a little later, “You won’t do our things with another girl, or say the same things, will you?”
“Never.”
“I want you to have girls, though.”
“I don’t want them.”
“You are talking too much,” the doctor said. “Mr. Henry must go out. He can come back again later. You are not going to die. You must not be silly.”
“All right,” Catherine said. “I’ll come and stay with you nights,” she said. It was very hard for her to talk.
