"
The doctor's voice bore once again its note of pity. "Your
husband died of it?"
"Yes, sir."
"He took no care of himself?"
"No, sir."
"And was not that a warning to you?"
"Doctor," the woman replied, "I would ask nothing better than to
come as often as you told me, but the cost is too great."
"How--what cost? You were coming to my free clinic."
"Yes, sir," replied the woman, "but that's during working hours,
and then it is a long way from home. There are so many sick
people, and I have to wait my turn, It is in the morning--
sometimes I lose a whole day--and then my employer is annoyed,
and he threatens to turn me off. It is things like that that
keep people from coming, until they dare not put it off any
longer. Then, too, sir--" the woman stopped, hesitating.
"Well," demanded the doctor.
"Oh, nothing, sir," she stammered. "You have been too good to me
already."
"Go on," commanded the other. "Tell me."
"Well," murmured the woman, "I know I ought not to put on airs,
but you see I have not always been so poor. Before my husband's
misfortune, we were well fixed. So you see, I have a little
pride. I have always managed to take care of myself. I am not a
woman of the streets, and to stand around like that, with
everybody else, to be obliged to tell all one's miseries out loud
before the world! I am wrong, I know it perfectly well; I argue
with myself--but all the same, it's hard, sir; I assure you, it
is truly hard.
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