He stared down at me
in much the same way that a huge mastiff looks at a
terrier. Finally his glance rested on my limp left hand.
"Married, h'm?"
For a moment the word would not come. I could hear
Norah catch her breath quickly. Then--"Yes," answered I.
"Husband living?" I could see suspicion dawning in
his cold gray eye.
Again the catch in Norah's throat and a little half
warning, half supplicating gesture. And again, "Yes,"
said I.
The dawn of suspicion burst into full glow.
"Where is he?" growled the red-haired doctor. "At a
time like this?"
I shut my eyes for a moment, too sick at heart to
resent his manner. I could feel, more than see, that Sis
was signaling him frantically. I moistened my lips and
answered him, bitterly.
"He is in the Starkweather Hospital for the insane."
When the red-haired man spoke again the growl was
quite gone from his voice.
"And your home is--where?"
"Nowhere," I replied meekly, from my pillow. But at
that Sis put her hand out quickly, as though she had been
struck, and said:
"My home is her home."
"Well then, take her there," he ordered, frowning,
"and keep her there as long as you can. Newspaper
reporting, h'm? In New York? That's a devil of a job
for a woman.
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