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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"

"And Mr. Torpenhow's ten times a better man than you," she concluded.
"He is. That's why he went away. I should have stayed and made love to you."
The girl sat with her chin on her hand, scowling. "To me! I'd like to catch
you! If I wasn't afraid 'o being hung I'd kill you. That's what I'd do. D'you
believe me?"
Dick smiled wearily. It is not pleasant to live in the company of a notion that
will not work out, a fox-terrier that cannot talk, and a woman who talks too
much. He would have answered, but at that moment there unrolled itself from one
corner of the studio a veil, as it were, of the flimsiest gauze. He rubbed his
eyes, but the gray haze would not go.
"This is disgraceful indigestion. Binkie, we will go to a medicine-man. We
can't have our eyes interfered with, for by these we get our bread; also
mutton-chop bones for little dogs."
The doctor was an affable local practitioner with white hair, and he said
nothing till Dick began to describe the gray film in the studio.
"We all want a little patching and repairing from time to time," he chirped.
"Like a ship, my dear sir,--exactly like a ship. Sometimes the hull is out of
order, and we consult the surgeon; sometimes the rigging, and then I advise;
sometimes the engines, and we go to the brain-specialist; sometimes the look-
out on the bridge is tired, and then we see an oculist.


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