“I hope you’re not going to operate, doctor.”
Murchison’s face betrayed his irritation as he moved towards the door.
“My dear madam, do you wish me to attend your husband, or do you not?”
The bony woman tilted her chin.
“I don’t hold with people being cut about with knives.”
Ignorance when insolent is doubly exasperating, and Murchison was in no mood for an argument.
“Mrs. Baxter, from what Dr. Hicks has said, your husband will die unless operated on immediately.”
The farmer’s wife shrugged, and pressed her lips together.
“Very well, doctor, have your own way.”
“If I am to attend your husband you must trust in my opinion.”