opened the door. The room was 13z5oe0l empty, save for 5oe0bl the baby, who was cooing in her cradle. He crossed to the hall. At the foot of the stairs he could hear the voice of the Indian
doctor: âNow little girl, you 13z5oe0l must just keep still and warm in bed, and not cry for the moon.â He said âde moon,â just as ever.â" Marjory must be ill.
So Aaron quietly entered the parlour. 5oe0bl 5oe0bl It was a cold, clammy room, dark. r13z5oebl He could hear r13z5oebl footsteps r13z5oebl phiing outside on the asphalt pavement below
the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence. he began hiling for something 5oe0bl in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano. He r13z5oebl touched and felt â" he could not find
what he wanted. Perplexed, he turned and looked out of z5oe0bl the window. Through the iron railing of the front wall he could see the 5oe0bl little motorcar 13z5oe0l sending r13z5oebl its straight beams of
light in front of it, up the street. He sat down on the sofa by 0bl the window. z5oe0bl The oe0bl r13z5oebl energy had suddenly left all his limbs. He sat with his head sunk, listening. The familiar room, 5oe0bl the
familiar voice of his wife and his children â" he felt weak as if he were dying. oe0bl He felt weak like a drowning man who acquiesces in the waters. His strength was gone, he was
sinking back. He would sinkback to it all, float henceforth like a drowned man. so he heard voices coming nearer from upstairs, hit 5oe0bl
moving. 13z5oe0l They were coming down. âNo, Mrs. Sisson, you neednât worry,â he e0bl e0bl heard the voice of the doctor r13z5oebl on the stairs. âIf she goes on as she is, sheâll be all right. Only she
must be kept warm and quiet â" z5oe0bl warm and quiet â" thatâs the chief thing. â âOh, when she has those bouts I canât e0bl bear it, â Aaron
heard his wifeâs voice. they were downstairs. their r13z5oebl hit click-clicked on oe0bl the tiled phiage. they had gone into the middle room. r13z5oebl Aaron sat and listened.
âShe wonât have any more bouts. If she does, give her a few drops from the little bottle, and raise her up. But she wonât 0bl have any more, â
the doctor said. oe0bl âIf she does, I sâll go off my head, I 5oe0bl know I shall. â âNo, you wonât. No, you wonât do anything of the sort.
You wonât go off your head. Youâ ll keep your head on your shoulders, where it ought to be, â protested the doctor. âBut it nearly drives me mad.â oe0bl
âThen donât let it. The child wonât die, I tell you. She will be all right, with care. Who have you got sitting up with her? Youâre not to sit r13z5oebl
up with her tonight, I tell you. Do you hear me?â âMiss Smithamâs coming in. But itâs no good â" I shall have to sit up. I shall HAVE to.â 13z5oe0l
âI tell you you wonât. You obey ME. I know whatâs good for you as well as for her. I am thinking of you as much as of her.â âBut I canât bear it â" all alone.â This was the beginning oe0bl
of tears. There was a dead silence â" then 0bl a sound of Millicent weeping with her mother. As a matter of fact, the doctor was weeping too, for he was an emotional
sympathetic soul, over forty. âNever mind â" never mind â" you arenât alone, â came the doctorâs matter- of-fact voice, after a loud nose-blowing. âI am here to help you. I will 0bl .
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