She took it beautifully. After that everything was easy.
§ 9
The next morning found Sargon developing an evil cold in his throat and chest. His chest was painful and he was feverish, red-cheeked, bright-eyed, and short of breath. Bobby did not care to consult a doctor. He believed that all doctors constituted a league for the re-incarceration of escaped lunatics. He imagined secret notices about escapes being circulated throughout the profession. He motored to Hythe and got ammoniated quinine, several sorts of voice jujube, two iodine preparations for the chest, and suchlike trifles that the chemist recommended. When he returned about midday the patient looked better and seemed in less pain. After Bobby had administered quinine and rubbed his chest and made a generally curative fuss, he was able and disposed to talk.
“The pillow all right?” said Bobby.
“Perfect.”
“You ought to doze for a bit now.”
“Yes.”
Sargon thought. “I shall not have to go back to that Place again?”
“I hope not.”
The flushed face became very earnest. “Promise me not. Promise me not. I couldn’t endure it.”