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- Джек Лондон
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"
I
ca
n't
feel
anything
.
"
I
knew
the
voice
.
It
was
Warden
Atherton
's
.
And
I
knew
myself
for
Darrell
Standing
,
just
returned
across
the
centuries
to
the
jacket
hell
of
San
Quentin
.
And
I
knew
the
touch
of
finger-tips
on
my
neck
was
Warden
Atherton
's
.
And
I
knew
the
finger-tips
that
displaced
his
were
Doctor
Jackson
's
.
And
it
was
Doctor
Jackson
's
voice
that
said
:
"
You
do
n't
know
how
to
take
a
man
's
pulse
from
the
neck
.
There
--
right
there
--
put
your
fingers
where
mine
are
.
D'ye
get
it
?
Ah
,
I
thought
so
.
Heart
weak
,
but
steady
as
a
chronometer
.
"
"
It
's
only
twenty-four
hours
,
"
Captain
Jamie
said
,
"
and
he
was
never
in
like
condition
before
.
"
"
Putting
it
on
,
that
's
what
he
's
doing
,
and
you
can
stack
on
that
,
"
Al
Hutchins
,
the
head
trusty
,
interjected
.
"
I
do
n't
know
,
"
Captain
Jamie
insisted
.
"
When
a
man
's
pulse
is
that
low
it
takes
an
expert
to
find
it
--
"
"
Aw
,
I
served
my
apprenticeship
in
the
jacket
,
"
Al
Hutchins
sneered
.
"
And
I
've
made
you
unlace
me
,
Captain
,
when
you
thought
I
was
croaking
,
and
it
was
all
I
could
do
to
keep
from
snickering
in
your
face
.
"
"
What
do
you
think
,
Doc
?
"
Warden
Atherton
asked
.
"
I
tell
you
the
heart
action
is
splendid
,
"
was
the
answer
.
"
Of
course
it
is
weak
.
That
is
only
to
be
expected
.
I
tell
you
Hutchins
is
right
.
The
man
is
feigning
.
"
