The mother hung over her, kissing her, petting her, and imploring her to speak, but the lips only moved and no sound came.
I snatched my liquor flask from my knapsack, but the woman forbade me, and said: "No--she does not suffer; it is better so.

It might bring her back to life.

None that be so good and kind as ye are would do her that cruel hurt.

For look you--what is left to live for?
Her brothers are gone, her father is gone, her mother goeth, the Church's curse is upon her, and none may shelter or befriend her even though she lay perishing in the road.

She is desolate.