Without a word she approached the victim who twisted about in vain to escape her, and taking a gourd from off her belt, she gently brought it to the poor wretch’s parched lips. Then from that eye, which up to then had been so dry and burnt up, a big tear could be seen slowly rolling down that misshapen face, so long distorted by despair. It was perhaps the first tear the unfortunate creature had ever shed. Meanwhile he forgot about drinking. The gypsy girl made her little pout of impatience, and pressed the neck of the gourd to Quasimodo’s tusky mouth. He drank a long draught. His thirst was
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The similarly silent scene in Lew Wallace's "Ben-Hur":
"The hand laid kindly upon his shoulder awoke the unfortunate Judah, and, looking up, he saw a face he never forgot—the face of a boy about his own age, shaded by locks of yellowish bright chestnut hair; a face lighted by dark-blue eyes, at the time so soft, so appealing, so full of love and holy purpose, that they had all the power of command and will. The spirit of the Jew, hardened though it was by days and nights of suffering, and so embittered by wrong that its dreams of revenge took in all the world, melted under the stranger’s look, and became as a child’s. He put his lips to the pitcher, and drank long and deep. Not a word was said to him, nor did he say a word."
