And, finally, he said, as if it were killing him to do it--"So sick
that--"
"Don't say that!"--she fairly hissed it at him.
"Don't _dare_ say that! You _did_ it--you----" And then, sinking down
beside him, catching hold of his hand, she sobbed out, wildly,
heartbreakingly--"Oh, Dr. Parkman--oh, please--_please_ tell me you
_will_ save Karl!"
Her sobs were becoming uncontrollable. "Ernestine," he said, sharply--"be
quiet. Be quiet! You have got to help."
The sobs stopped; she rose to her feet. He pulled up a chair for her, but
she did not sit down. A few sobs still came, but her face was becoming
stern, set.
"Tell me," she said, holding her two hands tight against her breast, and
looking him straight in the face.
And then he jerked it out. Karl had been taken ill--pain, fever, he
feared appendicitis. He had two other doctors see him; they agreed
that he must be operated on immediately. They brought him here. They
found--conditions awful. They did all that surgery could do--every known
thing was being done now, but--they did not know.
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