Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Sebastian, as doctor, was constantly around the sick and the dying. He did not even reply to her for several minutes. I felt his heart. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. The young man opposite was straining his ears to listen to their conversation.
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