"I am, Charcoal. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. "Yes; I speak English. Just go about with him. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. “Go on!” she commanded.
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