"Egypt or California?" I echoed, like a ventriloquist's puppet.
"Meanwhile, live in the open all you can—but no violent exercise. Don't let her ride or play tennis. A little gentle walking; nothing more."
I got to my feet. "Doctor, I want to know the truth. What chance have we?"
"Why, the best of chances. The will to win, that will do it, Ted. Keep your nerve and don't let her be frightened. Cures are often made, at this stage." He added: "I'm going to have more analyses made. It's still possible we are wrong."
"Are you certain we can fight it off?"
"Absolutely certain, if you follow instructions. Will that satisfy you?"
"I don't want to be satisfied. I want the truth."
The doctor walked up and down the room for a moment or two.
"Ted," he said slowly, turning to me, "I'm a doctor, not a prophet. Cures are possible with modern treatment. I can't say more. She is young, has lived a good, clean life, and has a good physique. Everything possible is in her favour. Don't leave her too long downstairs, or she may worry."
I groped toward the door, the doctor close at my elbow.