For his irritability
increased in measure as he perceived the medicine was doing him no good;
he found fault with the doctors, railed against them unjustly, and all the
while the little; cough continued, and the blood-spitting returned at the
end of cruel intervals, when he had begun to hope that at least that
trouble was done with. One morning he told his wife that he was going to
ask the doctors to examine him again. They had spoken of patching up; but
he wanted to know whether he was going to live or die. There was a certain
relief in hearing him speak so plainly; she had had enough of the torture
of hope, and would like to know the worst. He liked better to go to the
hospital alone, but she felt that she could not sit at home counting the
minutes for him to return, and begged to be allowed to go with him. To her
surprise, he offered no opposition. She had expected that her request
would bring about quite a little scene, but he had taken it so much as a
matter of course that she should accompany him that she was doubly glad
that she had proposed to go with him; if she hadn't he might have accused
her of neglecting him. She put on her hat; the day was too hot for a
jacket; it was the beginning of August; the town was deserted, and the
streets looked as if they were about to evaporate or lie down exhausted,
and the poor, dry, dusty air that remained after the season was too poor
even for Esther's healthy lungs; it made William cough, and she hoped the
doctors would order him to the seaside.
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