Lance O’Leary turned slowly to me.
“Dr. Letheny will not return,” he said, eyeing me keenly.
“Not return? What do you mean?”
He shook his head.
“He will not return,” he said very slowly and distinctly. “Dr. Letheny is dead.”
4. A Yellow Slicker and Other Problems
The slow words beat their way into my brain like so many dull little hammers. I opened my mouth, tried to say something, but could not seem to make him hear, felt curiously sick and dizzy, had a flashing memory of the first time I served in the operating room and all at once the table before me began to waver, the room whirled, and a great black blanket overwhelmed me.
Then, without any interval at all, I found myself lying on the couch in the inner office. I still felt sick but my face was wet and cold and my uniform damp around my shoulders and someone was saying in a dull voice: “Dr. Letheny is dead—Dr. Letheny is dead.”
“All right now, Miss Keate?” inquired a voice anxiously.
Wearily I opened my eyes, saw a gray arm and met the gaze of a pair of clear gray eyes. Instantly my head cleared. I pushed away the supporting arm and sat up, feeling automatically for my cap, though my hands shook.