Mary Cassatt Young Mother Sewing painting

Mary Cassatt Young Mother Sewing paintingGuido Reni The Penitent Magdalene painting
groans. Culver eased himself painfully down beside them and touched Mannix's arm. The light of dawn, a feverish pale green, had begun to appear, outlining on Mannix's face a twisted look of suffering. His eyes were closed.
"How you doing, Al?" Culver said, reaching up to refill his canteen.
"Hotsy-totsy," he breathed, "except for my frigging foot. How you making it, boy?" His voice was listless. Culver looked down at Mannix's shoe; he had taken it off, to expose heel and sock, where, soaked up like the wick of a lantern, rose a dark streak of blood.
"Jesus," Culver said, "Al, for Christ sake now, you'd better ride in on a truck."
"Nail's out, sport. I finally stole me a pair of pliers, some radioman. Had to run like hell to catch up."
"Even so—" Culver began. But Mannix had fallen into an impervious silence. Up the road stretched a line of squatting men, Mannix's company. Most were sprawled in the weeds or the dust of the road in attitudes as stiff as death, yet some nearby sat slumped over their rifles, drinking water, smoking; there was a thin resentful muttering