"
"Ain't like me," Cash denied weakly, studying Lovin Child.
"Give him here again, and you go fry them onions. I would--if
I had the strength to get around."
"Well, you ain't got the strength. You go back to bed, and I'll
lay him in with yuh. I guess he'll lay quiet. He likes to be
cuddled up close."
In this way was the feud forgotten. Save for the strange habits
imposed by sickness and the care of a baby, they dropped back
into their old routine, their old relationship. They walked over
the dead line heedlessly, forgetting why it came to be there.
Cabin fever no longer tormented them with its magnifying of
little things. They had no time or thought for trifles; a bigger
matter than their own petty prejudices concerned them. They were
fighting side by side, with the Old Man of the Scythe--the Old
Man who spares not.
Lovin Child was pulling farther and farther away from them.
They knew it, they felt it in his hot little hands, they read it
in his fever-bright eyes. But never once did they admit it, even
to themselves. They dared not weaken their efforts with any
admissions of a possible defeat. They just watched, and fought
the fever as best they could, and waited, and kept hope alive
with fresh efforts.
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