“The patient is ready, Doctor.”
Cub Sterling veered in time to see the interne, thumbs together, rocking his hands to and fro through space. Fat people irritated him. He barked:
“Quit that foolishness, and take this history!”
He strode to the bed and his left shoulder, which he raised in the way some men do an eyebrow, began rising.
The interne lifted an offended pencil. Sterling was crazy as a bedbug ... but he knew his guts!
Then Cub’s fingers automatically began the manual examination and his mind revolved and rushed.
“Beauty! ... A nose and mouth which balanced. Hair as fine as a baby’s and filled with sunshine. Skin so transparent you could almost poke your finger through it. The eyes should be ... blue ... brown...? No! Something else....”
He lifted a lid gently.
“Ah, violet ... of course! Only violet eyes could go with lips that curved that way.... She was too swell to be true...! Something must ruin her ... the teeth, probably....”
His fingers actually hesitated as he pulled back the lips; then, as they relaxed again, he drew his right forefinger down the cheek, as though examining the jawbone. The motion was soft and utterly gentle. It carried a sense of private approval.... The teeth were perfect....