A prickly sensation ran over her
body as she cleared her throat and said, monosyllabically:
"No."
The doctor waited.
"What is it?" he said at length. "Tell me why you have called. If you are
not ill, what is it you want of me?"
"You'll laugh, p'r'aps."
"Laugh? Is it something funny, then?"
"Funny! Not it!"
The sound of her voice seemed to give her some courage, for she went on
with more hardy resolution:
"Look here, you can see what I am--oh yes, you can--and you wonder what
I'm doin' here. Well, if I tell you, will you promise as you won't laugh
at me?"
This was Cuckoo's way of delicately sounding the doctor's depths. She
thought it decidedly subtle.
"Yes, I'll promise that," the doctor said.
He looked at her faded young face and felt no inclination to laugh.
"Well, then," Cuckoo said, more excitedly, "you know Ju--Mr. Addison,
don't you?"
The doctor began to see a ray of light.
"Certainly I do," he said.
"And Mr. Cresswell?"
"He is one of my most intimate friends."
The words were spoken with an unconscious warmth that chilled Cuckoo. For
surely the man who spoke thus of the man she hated, must be her enemy.
She faltered visibly, and a despairing expression crept into her eyes.
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