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 him, but he thought I'd better let her alone. So I did. This morning when she came down to breakfast she ate practically nothing. She says food makes her feel sick. I read about a girl who had a grumbling appendix. It didn't bother her much. But she had the operation, and afterwards she was an entirely different creature. It changed her whole disposition. Sheilah has had stomach upsets occasionally lately. Possibly she has a grumbling appendix.'

John Sheldon didn't smile. He nodded, gravely attentive.

'Possibly. Why don't I drop in to-morrow sometime, and look her over? We'll soon find out.'

'Oh, I wish you would!'

Already Dora felt better about Sheilah. It was always like that after talking to John Sheldon.

Sheilah had never thought of John Sheldon as a human being. To her he was more like a clinical thermometer, something you referred to when you were sick, as a matter of habit. Or a surgical instrument, perhaps. Because he was so clean. He even smelled clean. Like a roll of sterilized gauze when you first open it. Particularly his hands were like a surgical instrument—firm as steel, smooth as polished nickel, and unhesitating. You could al-