Her smile had vanished and she seemed to feel cold.
As though nothing had happened, Keyork began to make his daily examination of his sleeping patient, applying his thermometer to the body, feeling the pulse, listening to the beatings of the heart with his stethoscope, gently drawing down the lower lid of one of the eyes to observe the colour of the membrane, and, in a word, doing all those things which he was accustomed to do under the circumstances with a promptness and briskness which showed how little he feared that the old man would wake under his touch.

He noted some of the results of his observations in a pocket-book.

Unorna stood still and watched him.
"Do you remember ever to have been in the least degree like other people ?" she asked, speaking after a long silence, as he was returning his notes to his pocket.
"I believe not," he answered.

"Nature spared me that indignity--or denied me that happiness--as you may look at it.

I am not like other people, as you justly remark.