"There's no reason to whisper about it," the doctor said nastily. "We can all see."
"Oh, my gosh!" Marc cried. Looking around for a retreat, his frantic gaze fell on the screen. Still in a squat, he hobbled swiftly toward it.
"Look at him!" the patient cried, rising slightly in her chair. "Here, you! Stop doing that, for heaven's sake! You look like an ailing duck!"
"That's nothing to what I'd look like if I stood up," Marc panted in one last sprint for the screen. "That would be worse."
It was not until this point in the proceedings that Toffee began to realize what had happened. Listening to the voices in the hall, it had struck her that one of them had a dreadfully familiar ring to it. It was much to her dismay that, in peering around the edge of the screen, she suddenly found herself practically eyeball to eyeball with Marc. She let out a small, strangled cry.
"Oh, my gosh!" she said.
"For Pete's sake, let me in there!" Marc said.
"But how did you get out there?"
"How should I know? Never mind that, let me in. They're all looking!"