The bricklayer groaned feebly.

With a sudden movement she stripped the coat from her shoulders, and covered him as if to protect him from further harm.
Her hair, fastened in an untidy knot, slipped from the hairpins, and fell, grey and scanty, over her neck; her bony shoulders, barely covered by the thin garment, moved convulsively.
"'Ere, missis, take this, or you'll ketch cold," said a man kindly, pulling off his coat.
Then, with the quick sympathy of the people, they began to make light of the matter, trying to persuade her that his injuries were not serious.

A friendly rivalry sprang up among them as they related stories of wonderful recoveries made by men whose bodies had been beaten to a jelly.

One, carried away by enthusiasm, declared that it did a man good to be shattered like glass, for the doctors, with satanic cunning seized the opportunity to knead the broken limbs like putty into a more desirable shape.

But their words fell on deaf ears.
The woman crouched over the prostrate man, stroking the bruised limbs with a stupid, mechanical movement as an animal licks its wounded mate.
The crowd divided as a policeman came up with an important air.