"But what does this mean—this?" he exploded, gesturing wildly toward the circle of attentive onlookers.
"My clinic!" She smiled.
"You're not practising medicine out here—in this street!" he ejaculated.
"Indeed I am," she replied. "Some of these people have been waiting their turns since daylight. I returned from Kialang an hour ago. And I'll work until I collapse. I must. I wish I could multiply myself by a thousand. There's not another doctor within miles. You can watch, if you'd like," she added, then called shrilly.
An old woman appeared, and went scurrying, returning immediately with a clean, wooden bucket filled with hot water.
Eileen removed from the hand-bag what appeared to be a wallet. Stripping a rubber band from this she revealed a row of shining surgical knives. Then she produced from the black bag several bottles and a roll of absorbent cotton.
"Eyes," she told him as her hand was swallowed again by the black bag.
A child, a river boy, was pushed forward by a squinting mother. Quaking fearfully, he sat down on the cask at the girl's feet.
She turned to Peter. "This child has been without sight for a month. Without this operation he would remain blind forever. To-morrow he will see again."
"You're wonderful!" Peter exclaimed.