You would have to know Ricky to know all that made up her expression, then. In her eyes was the way she felt about herself, about me; her mouth spoke of courage. "I'm afraid the undulant fever's back."
"No. Please God, no!"
"I think I ought to be checked. The past few days, I've been running a temperature. And the old megrims have begun."
She smiled again.
It was one of her masterpieces.
We were together.
We had our lives....
I patted her. The wings of my spirit began to beat against her pitiable prospect—the racking weeks ahead, the shots and blood tests, clinical examinations, probings and slides and stains, reports, hospitalizations while the doctors observed, sweats, chills, toxic horrors, frets, pains, and bravery summoned every morning from the deep well of her to last another day.
The elevator rose.