The Surgeon's Hour
Lady Isobel Thorne's pulse was elevated when I examined her. Not from illness -- her lungs were clear, her heart was strong, her complexion was rosy -- but from something else. Something I could feel beneath my fingers, a tremor in her wrist that wasn't nervousness but anticipation. "The pain has subsided, my lady," I said, withdrawing my hand. "The treatment is working." "Thank you, Dr....
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