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US AND THE BOTTLEMAN
"Don't!" I said.
All at once he turned toward me and said in a queer, quick voice:
"Do you suppose it could possibly be Greg?"
I can't describe the way I felt when he said it, but if you've ever felt the same you know what I mean. It was a little as though something heavy dropped from my throat down to my toes, through me, leaving me all empty, with cold, tingly things rushing up again to my head. They were still rushing as we flew around the rock, and I kept saying:
"It can’t be Greg. . . . It can't be. . . ."
But it was
He was lying doubled up, just below the high place where Jerry had told him to keep watch. We did n't dare to touch him, because we did n't know how badly he was hurt, and he could n't seem to tell
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