He took the glass and set it upon the table. Then he took her sweating hand and held it protectingly in his.
The words cascaded out of her:
“She’s not killing them! I swear to God she’s not! She’s ... she’s ... I can’t tell you ... she’ll have me thrown out.... I can’t! I can’t!”
Higgins put his other hand beneath the hand he was already holding.
“Go on!” he ordered in a monotone.... “She’s...?”
His eyes picked into the shady depths of her close-set ones. He smiled again....
The girl’s terror fell away. She whispered:
“She’s ... taking ... morphia-off-the-ward-I’m-on-in-her-clinic. At night. Between the supervisor’s rounds!”
Neither the pressure of his hands nor his voice changed.
“For herself?”