"We are back again, Leslie."
"Yes, Miss Lee."
"Back to--what? To live the whole thing over again in a courtroom!
If only we could go away, anywhere, and try to forget!"
She had not expected any answer, and I had none ready. I was
thinking--Heaven help me--that there were things I would not forget
if I could: the lift of her lashes as she looked, up at me; the few
words we had had together, the day she had told me the deck was not
clean; the night I had touched her hand with my lips.
"We are to be released, I believe," she said, "on our own--some
legal term; I forget it."
"Recognizance, probably."
"Yes. You do not know law as well as medicine?"
"I am sorry--no; and I know very little medicine."
"But you sewed up a wound!"
"As a matter of fact," I admitted, "that was my initial performance,
and it is badly done. It--it puckers."
She turned on me a trifle impatiently.
"Why do you make such a secret of your identity?" she demanded.
"Is it a pose? Or--have you a reason for concealing it?"
"It is not a pose; and I have nothing to be ashamed of, unless
poverty--"
"Of course not. What do you mean by poverty?"
"The common garden variety sort. I have hardly a dollar in the
world. As to my identity,--if it interests you at all, I
graduated in medicine last June.
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