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Updated: May 23, 2025
Because it doesn't give the impression of such weakness as that. Her hands feel very thin, of course." Said the doctor: "I wish I could get her to take some stimulant; then she would begin eating again. If she could only be slightly intoxicated! But she's very obdurate on that point I told you? and refuses even Sir Cropton Fuller's old tawny port.
Then he drove as fast as he could to Sir Cropton Fuller, who asked him to stay to lunch. This meant a long unemployed delay, but he compromised. He would see another patient, and return to lunch, after which he would go to Costrell's Farm.
Prichard are sisters, as gradually as possible. I may not succeed, but I'll do my best. Ticklish job, rather! Now I suppose I ought to look after Sir Cropton Fuller." Five minutes after saying which the doctor's gig was doing its best to arrive in time to prevent that valetudinarian swallowing five grains of calomel, or something of the sort, on his own responsibility.
"Please consider Sir Cropton Fuller. You won't think it so impossible when you know it has happened." The doctor listened for the symptoms with perceptibly less than his normal appearance of knowing it all beforehand. Gwen proceeded, and told with creditable brevity and clearness, the succession of events the story has given, for its own reasons, by fits and starts.
The doctor nearly sprang out of his chair with surprise, but an insecure foothold made the chair jump instead. "But it's impossible it's impossible!" he cried. "How could Mrs. Marrable have a sister alive and not know it?" "That is what I am going to explain to you, Dr. Nash. And Sir Cropton Fuller will have to wait, as you said." "But the thing's impossible in itself. Only look at this!..."
Nash, whose gig was already in possession of him at his garden-gate with a palpably medical lamp over it, and a "surgery bell" whose polish seemed to guarantee its owner's prescriptions. "Get down and talk to me in the house," said her young ladyship. "Who is it you were going to? Anyone serious?" "Only Sir Cropton Fuller." "He can wait.... Can't he?" "He'll have to. No hurry!"
Get the job over! that was the sacramental word. It took him all the period of his drive to Sir Cropton's, and all the blank bars betwixt prescription and prescription, to get as it were to this phrase in the music. But by the time Sir Cropton had given him lunch, it had become the dominant theme of his reflections. Get the job done if possible!
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