“But where am–”
The figure in white began fading away again, a most distressing habit, and darkness again rushed at him from the white walls.
Hours later he again opened his eyes, realizing at once that it was night, though objects could be dimly seen by the glow of the one light at the far end of the 203room. He could hear voices, and with a slight turn of the head saw a man in uniform talking with the white-clad woman who could so suddenly and miraculously disappear. At the movement the man turned quickly.
It was Larkin, and the worried lines in his face were swept away by a quick, cheery smile as he bent over the bed and pressed McGee’s right hand in a manner that spoke more than words.
“What happened, Buzz?” McGee asked, and was again surprised at the thin quality of his voice.
“You’re all right, old hoss,” Larkin evaded, “but you mustn’t talk yet. Be quiet now. To-morrow night I’ll be back and tell you all about it.”
“But–”
“Quiet now! See you to-morrow,” and with another squeeze of the hand he was gone.
Well, McGee thought, it was rather tiring to try to think. Sleep was so easy–and so soft.
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