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VII
Anatole had been despatched to ask the
Mayor and the Curé to come as quickly as
they could to talk matters over, and the
Doctor had thrown himself on the mattress
in the sacristy whilst waiting for them. His
head was weary and he felt as though he
could neither think nor act. What was he
to do?
The afternoon sun shone in through the
little window, and the glare on the white wall
made him close his tired eyes for a moment.
“Have—you—already—been—in—
Germany?” He started violently as he heard
the voice, and opened his eyes.
The room was quite dark, but for the little
oil-lamp on the table, and on the bench sat
the Mayor and the Curé talking in a low voice.
“I did not hear you come,” said the
Doctor, springing to his feet.
“We did not want to wake you,” said the
Curé, “you looked so tired. You have slept
like a child for a good half-hour, but I am
afraid you were awakened by a nightmare.”
“You have a long night’s walk before you,
and you were well in need of the little sleep
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Project Runeberg, Mon Dec 11 15:56:06 2023
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