As before, she bent very low to
catch the gasping words: "Where is-my--father?"
"He had to go to town on business. He will come back just as soon as he
can."
"He-is--dead," said Allison, with difficulty. "Nothing else--could take-
him-away--now."
"No," she assured him, "you must believe me. He's all right. Everybody
else is all right and we hope you soon will be."
"No use--talking of--it," he breathed, hoarsely. "I know."
Singly, by twos and even threes, the strange men continued to come from
the City. Allison submitted wearily to the painful examinations that
seemed so unnecessary. Some of the men seemed kind, even sympathetic.
Others were cold and impassive, like so many machines. Still others, and
these were in the majority, were almost brutal.
It was one of the latter sort who one day drew a chair up to the side of
the bed with a scraping noise that made the recumbent figure quiver from
head to foot. The man's face was almost colourless, his bulging blue
eyes were cold and fish-like, distorted even more by the strong lenses
of his spectacles.
"Better have it over with," he suggested.
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