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 a girl to have one of those operations, and I'm sure I didn't have as much pain with Floyd as she had with—"

"Oh, she didn't have ether?"

"No."

"Well, it's easy with ether."

"Yes, very easy. You're deathly sick at your stomach, and sometimes the retching strains you, and you have a nice time with your insides."

Dot dried her eyes. She knew it was a futile gesture.

A half hour passed without a word being said. Occasionally Dot patted her eyes with her handkerchief. As nearly as she could make out, she was much worse off than she had been earlier that day. Then she had not considered Dr. Griegman's talent dangerous. She had merely been revolted by the man. Now she had discovered that blood poison, death, and a score of unknown dangers awaited her in that grimy office. Still, she had to go. Eddie did not want a baby. Surely that much could be seen by anybody. If he only wanted one! How gamely she could face the months of waiting and the terrible climax if he were beside her choosing bootees, picking out a name, counting days.

Before conversation was resumed between Dot and Edna, Eddie returned. He walked into the room with a sullen air of defiance.

"Well?" he asked, turning to Edna, "have you decided on the baby's godfather?"

"Please don't be sore, Eddie," Edna begged. "Between us we have Dot a nervous wreck."

"Between us," Eddie barked. "For the love of God, you fixed things so she hasn't any chance. It's enough to get anybody nervous. You got her dying no matter what she does."

"No, Eddie," Edna said, "I haven't. I merely want to take some of the bloom off your idea that operations like