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Updated: June 21, 2025
The interne turned over the batteries and went on about his work, while Fairchild, hoping within his heart that he had not placed an impediment in the way of Harry's recovery by not telling what he knew of Crazy Laura and her concoctions, began his task. Yet he was relieved by the knowledge that such information could aid but little.
"I don't believe I would be so hard, Gloria, if I were you. Let it rest." There was a strange note of wistful pleading in the nurse's voice. But Gloria did not heed it. "Let it rest? Never!" she answered. The hospital reached, the neatly-uniformed interne who came down to answer the District Nurse's inquiry, assured them that their patient was resting quietly.
He could not let them know that Jim had been seeking love in the byways of life. And that night he mailed a check in payment of the undertaker's bill, carefully leaving the stub empty. On the third day after Jim's funeral he started for Norada. An interne from a local hospital, having newly finished his service there, had agreed to take over his work for a time.
And Sara Juke, whose heart was full of fear, faltered, entered. The same thin file passed round the room, halting, sauntering, like grim visitors in a grim gallery. At a front desk a sleek young interne, tiptilted in a swivel chair, read a pink sheet through horn-rimmed glasses.
He had himself enrolled as an interne in the surgical wards of the college hospital. Here he had ample opportunity to observe the eyes of patients before and after accidents and operations, and in that manner he was enabled to elaborate the first accurate Chart of the Eye.
Time and again, in my interne days, have I gone the rounds of the wards or the out-patient departments with some kindly-faced, keen-eyed old Sherlock Holmes of the profession, and seen him point to a new case across the ward with the question: "When did that pneumonia come in?" or pick out a pain-drawn, ashy mask in the waiting line, with an abrupt, "Bring me that case of cancer of the stomach.
One morning, about a week after my interview with the be-spectacled interne, I met Doctor Forbes as he was coming from Helen's room and he gave me permission to ask her a few questions. "I'm trusting to your good sense, Thompson, not to overdo it," Forbes cautioned. "Remember, she is still in a very weak condition and don't be surprised if she fails to respond to your questions as you expect.
The interne had told them that when he had reached the scene of the conflict in company with the gardener he had found them and another lying upon the sward. Their companion, he said, was quite dead. "That must have been Stein," said Butzow. "And the others had escaped with the king!" "The king?" cried the interne. "Yes, the king, man Leopold of Lutha.
I felt as though I, myself, had died and my spirit, snatched from the brilliant, airy sunlight of life, had been plunged into the hammering emptiness of hell. "Jim is dead big, happy, kind-hearted Jim is dead" ached through my brain. They gave me something to drink ammonia, I think and my whirling head began to clear. "Can I see Mrs. Felderson?" I asked the interne.
Mary's than the little interne with glasses, whom I had seen the night before, came hurrying up to me. "Mr. Thompson, we have been telephoning every place for you." My heart jumped to my throat. "Is Mrs. Felderson ?" "No," he responded, "Mrs. Felderson is still unconscious. It is Mr. Felderson. The coroner has made an important discovery."
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