"What is the use of talking
rubbish! Well, I'm not going to let you talk at all. I'm going to read
you the news out of the evening papers until you go to sleep."
When Dr. Ballardyce called next morning, he found that the fever had
gained apace; all the symptoms were aggravated--the temperature, in
especial, had seriously increased. The sick man lay drowsily
indifferent, now and again moaning slightly; but sometimes he would
waken up, and then there was a curiously anxious and restless look in
his eyes. The nurse said she was afraid he had not been asleep at all,
though occasionally he had appeared to be asleep. When the doctor left
again, she was sent to bed, and Maurice Mangan took her place in the
sitting-room.
That was an extraordinary Sunday, long to be remembered. Anything more
hopelessly dismal than the outlook from those Piccadilly windows it was
impossible to imagine. The gale of Friday had blown itself out in rain;
and that had been followed by stagnant weather and a continuous drizzle;
so that the trees in the Green Park opposite looked like black phantoms
in the vague gray mist; while everything seemed wet and clammy and cold.
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