"What others?" I exclaimed.
"Do you suppose you're the only patient I have had to manage?"
I loathed "the others" with a horrible detestation; but I said, after reflection:
"Tell me about yourself. I know you are called Valerie from Dr. Deane. How old are you?"
She pinned the bandage in front of my forehead.
"Oh, I'm young enough," she answered with a laugh. "Three-and-twenty. And I'm five-foot-four, and I haven't a bad figure. But I haven't any good looks at all, at all."
"Tell me," said I impatiently, "exactly how you do look. I must know."
"I have a sallow complexion. Not very good skin. And a low forehead."
"An excellent thing," said I.
"But my eyebrows and hair run in straight parallel lines, so it isn't," she retorted. "It is very ugly. I have thin black hair."