The following morning found him in the doctor's waiting room, a black cigar turning unlighted in his teeth. "Dawn Pearl!… come here!" She moved to the side of the bed. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. ” Dessert was served.
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