"Then skip it," the Head sighed resignedly. "Just clear out."
"Yes, sir," George said, brightening. "Thank you, sir."
As the mists swirled up around George, and he gradually dissolved into
their vaporish currents, a joyous grin lighted his face....
* * * * *
Three sets of eyes fastened clinically on the X-ray with worried,
professional interest.
"There's a slight chance," the first doctor said, "if we operate
immediately."
"Too slight," the second murmured. "The bullet's too close to the
heart. He'll die on the table."
"He'll die anyway. We're merely taking the only chance there is."
"I suppose so. Has his wife arrived yet?"
"She's with him now."
"He's not conscious, is he?"
"No, certainly not, but they could not keep her away."
"We'd better explain how it is. We're almost certain to lose him."
"I suppose so."
There was a pause before they turned and reluctantly left the room.
Outside, in the hospital corridor, the first doctor proceeded to the
door at the end of the hall while the other two stayed behind. He
opened the door and quietly stepped inside.
Marc lay still on the bed, his pleasant face drawn and pale against the
pillow. Julie sat beside the bed, a classic figure of silent grief, her
blonde beauty drained with uncomprehending fright. She did not cry. Nor
did she move as the doctor walked toward her from the door.
"Mrs. Pillsworth ..." the doctor said, but Julie remained motionless.
He moved closer to her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.
"We've just seen the X-ray." At this Julie looked up. "We'll have to
operate instantly. The preparations are being made now." He paused.
"The chances for success are negligible."