Raffles
the weakest of us seem to hold in reserve for real calamity.
"Typhoid," he answered. "Kensington is full of it."
"He was sickening for it when I left, and you knew it, and could get rid of me then!"
"My good fellow, I was obliged to have a more experienced nurse for that very reason."
The doctor's tone was so conciliatory that I remembered in an instant what a humbug the man was, and became suddenly possessed with the vague conviction that he was imposing upon me now.
"Are you sure it was typhoid at all?" I cried fiercely to his face. "Are you sure it wasn't suicide—or murder?"
I confess that I can see little point in this speech as I write it down, but it was what I said in a burst of grief and of wild suspicion; nor was it without effect upon Dr. Theobald, who turned bright scarlet from his well-brushed hair to his immaculate collar.
"Do you want me to throw you out into the street?" he cried; and all at once I remembered that I had come to Raffles as a perfect stranger, and for his sake might as well preserve that character to the last.
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