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 meal that had been prepared with so much love and so little skill. She felt that she must die of the heat that had not been content to fire at her from the roof and the windows but had crept inside of her. The blood pounded at her temples, sang in her ears. She laid her hands on her forehead, but they were hot. Hot and damp.

"What's the matter, Dot?"

"Oh, I'm sick. I'm sick. This heat! Oh, it's terrible!"

Eddie leaped from his chair. "Ought I get the doctor?"

"No, I'm all right. I'm just warm. Just awful warm."

Eddie stood looking down at her. He felt stupid, useless. Would she know if it were time to get the doctor? Ought he just send for him and not bother whether it was time or not?

"Eddie, will you crack some ice for my head?"

He rushed to the kitchen and rummaged in the draw'er for the ice pick. Too damn dumb to have thought of that himself. She had had to think of it. Poor kid, lying there sick, and she had to tell him when something was needed.

He returned with the ice wrapped in a towel and laid it on her head. She closed her eyes and lay very quiet and white for more than ten minutes. He thought she was asleep, but when he began to tiptoe away from her she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Eddie, I'm afraid I'm an awful nuisance," she said.

Holy smoke, a nuisance! A strange sensation swept over Eddie. His eyes stung, and it suddenly became very hard to swallow. She had said it in such a small, wistful voice, had said it so honestly, so simply. She had not been fishing for extravagant reassurance. She had meant it. She was afraid she was an awful nuisance. And he, big clumsy fool, couldn't say a God-damned word of comfort. He could only walk quickly to the ice box, slam the butter in, and reply, "Yeh? That's too bad."

Dot didn't bathe at bedtime. She was afraid of disturbing Dr. Stewart's elaborate plan. She leaned weakly