“Patients to see, my dear madam.”
“No, it is not that. I worry you with my complaints. I am very, very tiresome, I own.”
“Nonsense, nonsense,” said the doctor; “but really I must hurry away.”
“Without seeing my drawings, and the books I have had down from town! Ah! I am sure I bore you with my murmuring. A sick woman is a burden to her friends.”
“If some one would only fetch me away in a hurry, I’d bless him,” thought the doctor.
“There are times, doctor, when a few words of sympathy would make me bear my lot more easily, and—”
“Wheels, by George!” exclaimed the doctor.
“If you only knew—”
“There’s something bolted.”
“The dead vacancy in my poor heart.”