“Good-morning.”
“Damn the woman—Ah, good-morning.”
Miss Murray’s attitude betrayed the inevitable catechisation. Dr. Little followed her into the dining-room.
“And how do you find my sister-in-law this morning. Dr. Little?”
Miss Murray had an aggressive, expeditious manner that disorganized any ordinary mortal’s sense of self-sufficiency and vain repose. In action her hair seemed to become sandier in color, her freckles more yellow and independent. In speech she reminded the locum-tenens of a quick-firing gun whose exasperating detonations numbered so many snaps a minute.
“Mrs. Murray is no worse this morning. In fact—I can—”
“The temperature?”
“The temperature is a little above normal.”
Dr. Little’s “distinguished air” became ten times more distinguished. He articulated in his throat, and began to pull on his gloves with gestures of great finality.
“Did you notice that reddish rash?”