There was no exit save by the doorway I had entered, and no furniture
save a couple of rush-bottomed chairs and a table strewn with an
untidy medley of writing materials and medicine bottles.
A feeling of depression, contrasting strangely with the effect
produced on me by the cheerfulness of the hotel in general, seized me
directly I entered the room. Despite the brilliancy of the electric
light and the new and gaudy bed-hangings, the air was full of gloom--a
gloom which, for the very reason that it was unaccountable, was the
more alarming. I felt it hanging around me like the undeveloped shadow
of something singularly hideous and repulsive, and, on my approaching
the sick woman, it seemed to thrust itself in my way and force me
back.
Miss Vining was decidedly good-looking; she had the typically
theatrical features--neatly moulded nose and chin, curly yellow hair,
and big, dreamy blue eyes that especially appeal to a certain class of
men; like most women, however, I prefer something more solid, both
physically and intellectually--I cannot stand "the pretty, pretty."
She was, of course, far too ill to converse, and, beyond a few
desultory and spasmodic ejaculations, maintained a rigid silence. As
there was no occasion for me to sit close beside her, I drew up a
chair before the fire, placing myself in such a position as to command
a full view of the bed. My first night passed undisturbed by any
incident, and in the morning the condition of my patient showed a
slight improvement.
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