He said, “You aren’t likely to die. The dangers are only of infection;
or if the physician is the sort who depends on that class of practice
for his income, perhaps the night before he may have been drunk and his
hand isn’t quite steady. . . . Well, there is no need of frightening
you. How old are you, anyway?”
“Almost twenty-four.”
“You look nineteen.”
He hesitated. “Sometimes physicians of the type that perform this
operation, say that it is necessary whether it really is or not. . . .
If you would be willing to have me make an examination—”
Later: “You shouldn’t delay unduly. You seem to be nearly three months’
pregnant. There is a man whom I could recommend, who was in my class at
medical school. I hear that he has a very scientific procedure. However,
because he is compelled to deal with women who are frequently somewhat
hysterical he is, a little—what you might call hard-boiled. I would go
with you, if it would make it easier for you.”
“Well, Doctor, if you could make the appointment for Saturday morning, I
could arrange to take the day off.”
“Would your husband go with you?”
“I think not.”
“Then you can depend on me. Telephone me tomorrow, and I shall have made
the appointment.”