''A thrasher, ain''t she?'' said one of the men, as he worked for a better grip on my ankle.
''A very bad case,'' said Dr Christie. He looked into my face. ''The convulsion is passing, at least.'' He raised his voice. ''Don''t be afraid, Mrs Rivers! We know all about you. We are your friends. We have brought you here to make you well.''
I tried to speak. ''Help! Help!'' I tried to say. But the spoon made me gobble like a bird. It also made me dribble; and a bit of dribble flew out of my mouth and struck Dr Christie''s cheek. Perhaps he thought I had spat it. Anyway, he moved quickly back, and his face grew grim. He took out his handkerchief.
''Very good,'' he said to the men and the nurse, as he wiped his cheek. ''That will do. Now you may take her.''
They carried me along a passage, through a set of doors and a room; then to a landing, another passage, another room—I tried to study the way, but they had me on my back: I could make out only so many drab-coloured ceilings and walls. After about a minute I knew they had got me deep into the house, and that I was lost. I could not cry out. The nurse kept her arm about my throat, and I still had the spoon of horn in my mouth. When we reached a staircase they took me down it, saying, ''To you, Mr Bates,'' and, ''Watch this turn, it''s a tight one!''—as if I might be, not a sack of feathers