第8章 (第2/3页)
first glance they appeared the be peering; but as one looked one found tint they were in fact withdrawn, almost absent-minded.
When The Midget came back for us tray he was still staring at the portrait. Noting like this had come his way for years. It made La Gioconda look like a poster.
The Midget examined his virgin teacup, put a. practised hand against the teapot's tepid cheek, and pouted. She had better tings to do, she conveyed, tan bring him trays for him w ignore.
He pushed tilt portrait at her.
What did she think of it? If tint man were her patient what, would be her verdict?
'Liver,' she said crisply, and bore away the tray in heel-tapping protest, all starch and blonde curls.
But the surgeon, strolling in against her -draught, kindly and casual, had other views. He looked at the portrait, as invited, and said after a moment's interested scrutiny:
'Poliomyelitis.'
'Infantile paralysis? Grant said; and remembered all of a sudden that Richard III had a withered arm.
'Who is it?' the surgeon asked.
'Richard the Third.'
'Really? That's interesting.'
'Did you know that he had a withered arm?'
'Had he? I didn't remember that. I thought he was a hunchback.'
'So he was.'
'What I do remember is that he was born with a full set of teeth and ate live frogs. Well, my diagnosis seems to be abnormally accurate.'
'Uncanny. What made you
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