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around the large dark room peering at paper-littered chairs, scratching
at documents impaled on wire hooks hanging feom the walls abd advancing
and retreating between tables and cabinets with irritated grunts. He
was a short, stout, baldheaded nan, dressed in a tweed jacket and shooting
breechs, and on the wall behind his desk hung a tweed hat tufted with
trout files.
when Sarah entered ho retreated to a swivel ohuir and sat down with
his back to her, and then with s flick of his foot, swung round until she
saw his red bulbous profile. This tine there was a note of interrogation
in his grunt. "I. want to put down a child’s name, said Sarah.
"Sit down, then," said the doctor, spurning the floor again and
being carried round to his desk, a tall mahogany affair with mirrors and
brasswork, which, when he slid back the lid revealed a tangled bank of
papers reaching up to overflowing pigeon-holes. He pushed some of the
papers aside, drew out a book and opened it on the leaf of the desk. He
dipped his pen, adjusted his spectacles, and without looking at Sarah began
to question her.
"And what’s your name - full name?"
"Sarah Gomartin.’
"Your husband’s name?"
Sarah, seated on the edge of the chair, remained silent, the doctor
looked up. Although her head was averted she flushed and touched her lips
nervously with her fingers. Furphy raised his brows encouragingly and
smilled, "The father’s name?"
"I dont know.”
A change came over the Doctor. HIs glance which had been kind,
