"Well, I'll write plain."
It was no good asking Morel to answer, for he could scarcely do more
than write his own name.
The doctor came. Leonard felt it his duty to meet him with a cab. The
examination did not take long. Annie, Arthur, Paul, and Leonard were
waiting in the parlour anxiously. The doctors came down. Paul glanced at
them. He had never had any hope, except when he had deceived himself.
"It MAY be a tumour; we must wait and see," said Dr. Jameson.
"And if it is," said Annie, "can you sweal it away?"
"Probably," said the doctor.
Paul put eight sovereigns and half a sovereign on the table. The doctor
counted them, took a florin out of his purse, and put that down.
"Thank you!" he said. "I'm sorry Mrs. Morel is so ill. But we must see
what we can do."
"There can't be an operation?" said Paul.
The doctor shook his head.
"No," he said; "and even if there could, her heart wouldn't stand it."
"Is her heart risky?" asked Paul.
"Yes; you must be careful with her.
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