The side of his face, his neck, and all the shoulder
and breast of his shirt were covered with blood. He had ceased to cry
out, but kept muttering between his gripped jaws, as he labored to tear
himself free of the retaining hands:
"Ah, I'll kill him! Ah, I'll kill him! I'll kill him! Damn you, Heise,"
he exclaimed suddenly, trying to strike the harness-maker, "let go of
me, will you!"
Little by little they pacified him, or rather (for he paid but little
attention to what was said to him) his bestial fury lapsed by degrees.
He turned away and let fall his arms, drawing long breaths, and looking
stupidly about him, now searching helplessly upon the ground, now gazing
vaguely into the circle of faces about him. His ear bled as though it
would never stop.
"Say, Doctor," asked Heise, "what's the best thing to do?"
"Huh?" answered McTeague. "What--what do you mean? What is it?"
"What'll we do to stop this bleeding here?"
McTeague did not answer, but looked intently at the blood-stained bosom
of his shirt.
"Mac," cried Trina, her face close to his, "tell us something--the best
thing we can do to stop your ear bleeding."
"Collodium," said the dentist.
"But we can't get to that right away; we--"
"There's some ice in our lunch basket," broke in Heise.
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