“If she’s dead,” said the doctor coldly, “I’m afraid I can’t do anything. I’m sorry to seem unsympathetic, but if you knew the pain it causes me to walk in these clothes you’d understand my saying that I’ll let the whole world die in awful agony before I come out here again on your wild goose chase after dying females.”
Robert was hunting distractedly under all the bushes around the seat....
******
The Outlaws had changed their clothes. They stood arrayed as Brigands in all the glory of coloured scarves and handkerchiefs and murderous-looking weapons. Upon the floor lay the limp outer coating of the Page, the Ace of Clubs, the Gondolier and the Goat Herd. They leapt with joy and brandished kitchen choppers and bread knives and trowels.
“Now what’re we going to do?” said Ginger.
“Everyone else is dancing,” suggested Douglas mildly.
“Dancing!” repeated William scornfully. “D’you think we’ve put these things on to dance?”
“Well, what’re we goin’ to do?” said Ginger.
“There’s one thing we mus’ do first of all,” said William. He spoke in his leader’s manner and his freckled face was stern. “There’s a man here dressed as a tor—as a bull killer.”
“A Toreador,” said Douglas with an air of superior knowledge.