"Blood-poisonin' set in," he began with a haste which seemed due to excitement. "Developed sudden. Had to amputate to save his life. He was willin' enough; he knew it was for the best, his only chance in fact."
Dan Treu was seized with a sudden aversion for Lamb's shifty, dark-circled eyes, his unconvincing nasal voice.
"Blood-poisonin' set in, you say?" He eyed Lamb steadily.
"His habits, you know, battin' around and all that. Bad blood."
"Bad blood—hell!" said Dan Treu sharply. "His blood was as good as yours or mine, and his habits too."
He made to step inside, but Lamb stopped him.
"He hasn't come out of the ether yet—I'll let you know when you can see him."
There was nothing more to say, so Dan Treu turned on his heel and walked away, angry, sceptical—without exactly knowing why.
The aversion which Lamb had inspired was still strong within him when he stopped on a street corner to ruminate and incidentally roll a cigarette.
"When he gets close I feel like I do when a wet dog comes out of the crick and is goin' to shake." The deputy felt uncommonly pleased with the simile which so well described his feelings.