It must be. But think . . ."
"A man might die under the hands of the surgeon?"
"Yes. There is always the danger, there is always the chance of death
resulting from any but the most minor of operations. But you are not
the man to be afraid, Rod Norton. I know that."
"You say that you have specialized In this sort of thing." He was
probing for her thoughts with keen, narrowed eyes. "Would you be
willing to perform that operation for me?"
She shrank back suddenly, her hand dropping from his arm.
"No," she cried. "No, no."
He smiled triumphantly.
"Then we'll let it go for a while. If you wouldn't care to do it,
afraid that I might die under your knife, I guess I don't want it done
at all. I am quite content with things as they are. I see the way to
gain the ends I desire; I am gaining them; if there is a brain
pressure, well, I'm quite ready to thank God and Moraga for it! Which
you may take as absolutely final, Dr. Page!"
She was beaten then and she knew it. She went back to her chair in a
sort of bewildered despair, her hands dropping idly to her lap.
"It would be just as well," he said presently, "if I left before any
one came in. Before I go, do you mind telling me what you mean to do?
Shall you denounce me? Are you going to spread your suspicions abroad?"
"What do you leave me to do? Have I the right to sit still and say
nothing? You would go on as you have begun; you would commit fresh
crimes.
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