"Where have you got it, old man ?" he said, and hardly realised that it was himself speaking.
The other was lying just as before, on his back, but he had pulled his knees up convulsively and a rug had slipped off.

In a flare Peter saw beads of sweat on his forehead and a white, twisted face.
He choked back panic and knelt down.

He had imagined it all before, and yet not quite like this.

He knew what he ought to say, but for a minute he could not formulate it.

"Where are you hit, Jenks ?" was all he said.
The other turned his head a little and looked at him.