David worked over the body on the slope. He lost track of how long he had been working to wring death out of the farmer’s lungs. Up, over, press, relax…up, over, press, relax… How long had it been since he had shouted to a small boy on the road to get a doctor? Up, over… No flicker of life in the gaping white face. David’s arms and shoulders ached; he could no longer close his hands into fists. Time had won again — had stolen another human being from those who loved him. Suddenly, David was aware that he had been talking aloud the whole time, angrily — that he was behaving, not with the grave
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