Doctor was
here over a week ago and took her off. They've been here since poking
round and asking who she was and where she belonged--well, we didn't
know. And asking where you were, too--and we didn't know either. She was
real bad, if you ask me--"
Peer hastened off. It was a hot day, and the air was close and heavy.
On he went--all down the whole length of Sea Street, through the
fishermen's quarter, and a good way further out round the bay. And then
he saw a cart coming towards him, an ordinary work-cart, with a coffin
on it. The driver sat on the cart, and another man walked behind, hat in
hand. Peer ran on, and at last came in sight of the long yellow building
at the far end of the bay. He remembered all the horrible stories he had
heard about the treatment of diphtheria patients--how their throats had
to be cut open to give them air, or something burned out of them with
red-hot irons--oh! When at last he had reached the high fence and rung
the bell, he stood breathless and dripping with sweat, leaning against
the gate.
There was a sound of steps within, a key was turned, and a porter with a
red moustache and freckles about his hard blue eyes thrust out his head.
"What d'you want to go ringing like that for?"
"Froken Hagen--Louise Hagen--is she better? How--how is she?"
"Lou--Louise Hagen? A girl called Louise Hagen? Is it her you've come to
ask about?"
"Yes. She's my sister. Tell me--or--let me in to see her."
"Wait a bit.
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