DOI Artikel:
Watson, H. B. Marriott: The house of shame
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21805#0075
ßy H. B. Marriott Watson 71
u It is a dangerous time,” said the doctor. “Verylittle may
do damage. We can’t be too careful in these affairs.”
He finished with his gloves, and put out his hand.
“ Have I,” stammered Farrell, “have I done irreparable
harm ? ”
“ She is very delicate,” said the doctor.
“ What will it mean ? ” asked the husband, lowering his voice.
The doctor smiled and touched him with his fingers. “ If you
were to cut your finger, my friend, a doctor would never prophesy.
Events are out of all proportions to causes.” He put his own
hand upon the latch. “ I will call to-morrow early,” he said,
“and will send a nurse at once.”
Farrell took his arm in a hard grip.
“ Is she dying ? ” he asked hoarsely.
The doctor moved impatiently. “ My dear sir, certainly not,”
he answered hastily. He threw open the door and emerged into
the night. “ I would not distress myself with unnecessary fancies,
Mr. Farrell,” said he, as he dropped down the Steps.
Farrell walked down the hall to the foot of the stairs. He laid a
hand upon the balustrade uncertainly. The house wasengrossed in
silence ; then from the floor above came a sharp cry, as of a
creature in pain, and a door shut softly. Trembling, he rushed
into the dining-room, and hid his face in his hands. Yet that
weak device was no refuge from his hideous thoughts. His
brain was crowded with fears and terrors ; in the solitude of that
chamber he was haunted by frightful ghosts. The things stood
upon the white cloth, like spectres ; the lamp burned low, and
splashes of flame rose and feil in the ashes. He rose and poured
some brandy into a glass. The muscles jumped in his hands, and
the liquor spilled over the edges and stained his shirt, but the
draught strung up his nerves, and brighter thoughts flowed in his
mind.
u It is a dangerous time,” said the doctor. “Verylittle may
do damage. We can’t be too careful in these affairs.”
He finished with his gloves, and put out his hand.
“ Have I,” stammered Farrell, “have I done irreparable
harm ? ”
“ She is very delicate,” said the doctor.
“ What will it mean ? ” asked the husband, lowering his voice.
The doctor smiled and touched him with his fingers. “ If you
were to cut your finger, my friend, a doctor would never prophesy.
Events are out of all proportions to causes.” He put his own
hand upon the latch. “ I will call to-morrow early,” he said,
“and will send a nurse at once.”
Farrell took his arm in a hard grip.
“ Is she dying ? ” he asked hoarsely.
The doctor moved impatiently. “ My dear sir, certainly not,”
he answered hastily. He threw open the door and emerged into
the night. “ I would not distress myself with unnecessary fancies,
Mr. Farrell,” said he, as he dropped down the Steps.
Farrell walked down the hall to the foot of the stairs. He laid a
hand upon the balustrade uncertainly. The house wasengrossed in
silence ; then from the floor above came a sharp cry, as of a
creature in pain, and a door shut softly. Trembling, he rushed
into the dining-room, and hid his face in his hands. Yet that
weak device was no refuge from his hideous thoughts. His
brain was crowded with fears and terrors ; in the solitude of that
chamber he was haunted by frightful ghosts. The things stood
upon the white cloth, like spectres ; the lamp burned low, and
splashes of flame rose and feil in the ashes. He rose and poured
some brandy into a glass. The muscles jumped in his hands, and
the liquor spilled over the edges and stained his shirt, but the
draught strung up his nerves, and brighter thoughts flowed in his
mind.