“I was sent for to go to the Hospital St. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. I haven’t murdered any one, or broken the law in any way that I know of.
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