She had lost her fear of
him, and, stretching out her hand, touched the sleeve of his coat.
"I don't understand it all," the doctor said. "I don't like to accept
what you say about Mr. Cresswell, even in thought. But I will go and see
him, and Julian. The dogs," he added in a low and secret voice to
himself. "There is something terribly strange in all this."
He fell into a silence of consideration that lasted longer than he knew.
The lady of the feathers began to fidget in it uneasily. She felt that
her mission was perhaps accomplished and that she ought to go. She
looked across at the doctor, pulled her silk gloves up on her thin arms,
and kicked one foot against the other. He did not seem to notice. She
glanced towards the window. The fog was pressing its face against the
glass like a dreary and terrible person looking upon them with haggard
eyes. It was time, she supposed, for her to drift out into the arms that
belonged to that dreary and terrible face. She got up.
"I'll go now," she said.
The doctor did not hear.
"I'll go now, please," she repeated.
This time he heard and got up. He looked at her and said, "I have your
address. I will see you again."
If misery chanced to stand once in his path, he seldom lost sight of it
till he had at least tried to bring a smile to its lips, a ray of hope to
its eyes.
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