"Don't be afraid of the dark, dear; I'll never leave you."
"Nonsense!" he said, smoothing her hair that the hat had fallen away
from.
"Never! Never! I wish I were a mat for you to walk on. I want to crawl
on my hands and knees for you. I'll never leave you, Gerald--never!"
"My beautiful Hester!" he said, unsteadily, and then again, "Nonsense!"
But, almost on the moment, the man nurse returned and she was obliged to
leave him, but not without throbbing promises of the to-morrow's
return, and then there took place, downstairs in an anteroom, a long, a
closeted, and very private interview with a surgeon and more red tape
and filing of applications. She was so weak from crying that a nurse was
called finally to help her through the corridors to her car.
Gerald's left lung was burned out and he had three, possibly four, weeks
to live.
All the way home, in her tan limousine with the little yellow curtains,
she sat quite upright, away from the upholstery, crying down her
uncovered face, but a sudden, an exultant determination hardening in her
mind.
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