So she finished it, not without anxiety that she might be needed. But daddy's attentions were for few, and not to be lightly received.
“Can you stand a piece of bad news?”
Strangely, her first thought was of K.
“There has been an accident. Dr. Wilson—”
“Which one?”
“Dr. Max—has been hurt. It ain't much, but I guess you'd like to know it.”
“Where is he?”
“Downstairs, in Seventeen.”
So she went down alone to the room where Dr. Ed sat in a chair, with his untidy bag beside him on the floor, and his eyes fixed on a straight figure on the bed. When he saw Sidney, he got up and put his arms around her. His eyes told her the truth before he told her anything. She hardly listened to what he said. The fact was all that concerned her—that her lover was dying there, so near that she could touch him with her hand, so far away that no voice, no caress of hers, could reach him.
The why would come later. Now she could only stand, with Dr. Ed's arms about her, and wait.