“No.”
“Nor take my temperature?”
“No.”
“Nor look at my tongue?”
“Certainly not. I have a quite sufficient idea of what it looks like.”
The tone was almost brutal. Miss Ennis began to whimper.
“I’m a m—m—mess, I know,” she blubbered. “But you needn’t keep telling me so.”
“A mess can be cleared up,” said he more kindly, “under orders.”
“I’ll do whatever you tell me, if only—”
“Stop! There will be no ‘if’ about it. You will do as you are bid, or we will drop the case right here.”