I don't want anything to change.
I'd be content to lead just the life I'm leading now to the end of my
days."
"You do beat the devil!" exclaimed Gurney. "Your father's right when
he tells me you're a mystery. Perhaps the Almighty knew what He was
doing when He made you, but it takes a lot of faith to believe it!
Well, I'm off. Go on back to your murdering old machine." He climbed
into his car, which he operated himself, but he refrained from setting
it immediately in motion. "Well, I rubbed it in on the old man that
you had warned him not to slide his hand along too far, and that he
got hurt because he didn't pay attention to your warning, and because
he was trying to show you how to do something you were already doing a
great deal better than he could. You tell him I'll be around to look
at it and change the dressing to-morrow morning. Good-by."
But when he paid the promised visit, the next morning, he did more
than change the dressing upon the damaged hand. The injury was severe
of its kind, and Gurney spent a long time over it, though Sheridan was
rebellious and scornful, being brought to a degree of tractability
only by means of horrible threats and talk of amputation.
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