[The Vanished Messenger by E. Phillips Oppenheim]@TWC D-Link bookThe Vanished Messenger CHAPTER VI 9/22
He rested because he was exhausted, but even in his sleep he was ill at ease. The doctor, with the telegrams in his hand, made his way down a splendid staircase, past the long picture gallery where masterpieces of Van Dyck and Rubens frowned and leered down upon him; descended the final stretch of broad oak stairs, crossed the hail, and entered his master's rooms. Mr.Fentolin was sitting before the open window, an easel in front of him, a palette in his left hand, painting with deft, swift touches. "Ah!" he exclaimed, without looking around, "it is my friend the doctor, my friend Sarson, M.D.of London, L.R.C.P.
and all the rest of it.
He brings with him the odour of the sick room.
For a moment or two, just for a moment, dear friend, do not disturb me.
Do not bring any alien thoughts into my brain.
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