Oct 28, 2018
Hands were lifting his head. The sunshine was agonising as it poured into his eyes, and he closed his eyelids to keep it out. “Bush! Bush!” That was Hornblower’s voice, pleading and tender. “Bush, please, speak to me.” Two gentle hands were holding his face between them. Bush could just separate his eyelids sufficiently to see Hornblower bending over him, but to speak called for more strength than he possessed. He could only shake his head a little, smiling because of the sense of comfort and security conveyed by Hornblower’s hands.
—Lieutenant Hornblower by C. S. Forester