If Martin were killed by going out
yesterday then she had killed him. He had gone out to escape her.
But she drove that thought from her as she had driven so many
others.
"The pneumonia's bad enough," said the little man, becoming more
confidential as his grip tightened on her arm, "but it's heart's the
trouble. Might finish him any day. Tells me his father was the same.
What a nice warm arm you've got, my dear--it's a pleasant day, too."
They entered the house and Dr. Abrams stayed chatting with Emily in
the passage for a considerable time. Any one of the opposite sex
seemed to hare an irresistible attraction for him.
When they went upstairs the doctor was so held by his burning
curiosity that it was difficult to lead him into Martin's bedroom.
Everything interested him; he bent down and felt the tablecloth with
his dirty thumb, then the soil round the hyacinth, then the blue
china. Between every investigation he stared at Maggie as though he
were now seeing her for the first time. At last, however, he was
bending over Martin, and his examination was clever and deft; he bad
been, like his patient, used to better days.
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