All of which proves that the doctor also had his moments of distraction, with this difference: he was not distracted from his subject matter. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging.
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