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Reed, Myrtle, 1874-1911

"Old Rose and Silver"

The accent was on the "Miss"--the last
word was much fainter. "Rose Miss" was wrong, so the other must be
right, except for the misplaced accent. Did the accent always come on
the first beat of a measure? He had forgotten, but he would ask the man
at the storehouse when he went to get the striped violin for the
Hungarian Dances.
His left hand throbbed with unbearable agony. The room began to spin
slowly on its axis. There was no mist now, or even a shadow, and every
sense was abnormally acute. The objects in the whirling room were
phenomenally clear; even a scratch on the front of his chiffonier stood
out distinctly.
He could hear a clock ticking, though there was no clock in his room.
Afar was the sound of women sobbing--two of them. Above it a strange
voice said, distinctly: "There is not one chance in a thousand of saving
his hand. If I had nurses, I would amputate now, before he recovers
consciousness."
The words struck him with the force of a blow, though he did not fully
realise what they meant. The pain in his left arm and the sickening
odour nauseated him.


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