The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. She was naturally weaker, she would tire quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of honour obtaining amongst gentlemen. But what the deuce! He was human; he was a machine only when on the hunt. “I can survive on my own.
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