“But I can’t talk. I—”
“Yes, yes, I’m not doubting you.” The doctor walked slowly back and forth. “It’s just one more case of war shock.
“You see,” he began, after waving the ladies into chairs, “it’s like this. You, my child, are not afraid of bombs. That is, you are determined not to be. So are we all. We won’t let the enemy get us down. That’s grand! Magnificent! The true British spirit.
“But, my dear,” his voice dropped, “that is all in your mind. Your body has other things to say. It is truly afraid, and you can do nothing about it.
“In such a case your body breaks down at its weakest point. In your case it is your voice. I have a patient who buys old stamps. He’s forever peering through a glass, examining stamps, using his eyes. He wasn’t afraid of bombs. But his body was. He went totally blind. Since he was an American, I packed him into the Clipper and sent him home. And now,” the doctor spread his arms wide, “he’s quite all right again.”
“But doctor, what am I to do?” There was agony in Cherry’s whisper.
“Go to America. Two weeks there and you will be well. Then come back and take up your work once more. It’s your only chance. Is it worth the trouble?”
“But I can’t. I—”
“Yes, you can.” Mrs. Ramsey was on her feet. “I have it. The very thing! The boat sails next Monday.”
“The boat? What boat, mother?” Cherry stared.