the wealth of hair streaming over the pillow, and her white throat.
Jamie knew what he was going to do. That was definitely settled in his mind. He was going to take her hands and hold them tight. He was going to draw her face to his as she had voluntarily yielded it to him once. He was going to cover it with a passion of suffering kisses. He was going to tell her that he did not give a darn what had happened or how it had happened. He never could and he never would believe that dishonour had touched her or ever could touch her. He was going to make her well, and he was going to take her home, and he was going to take care of her. They were going to live together and love together, and they were going to make something very wonderful of life. The new blood, the fresh blood, the clean blood, surged up in Jamie until the hair was almost standing on his head. He was wringing his hands without knowing what he was doing.
“They aren’t efficient! They aren’t doing what they should! I’ll kill the doctor and wring the neck of every nurse in that hospital if they don’t get a move on them!” threatened Jamie. “Birth’s a natural function. You can’t tell me that a big, strong girl like that wouldn’t live through it if she had the proper care.”
Jamie raced into the hospital and to a desk and down a hall and into an elevator and then into a small room. He stood beside a bed and took one long look. Then he turned his ashen face from the doctor, waiting beside the bed, holding the wrist of the gasping woman, to the nurse.
