The Imperial Physician
The girl was dying. There was no other word for it. She was twenty years old, lying on a cot in a room that had no air conditioning, no electricity beyond a single bare bulb swinging from a frayed wire, and no hope except for the man standing over her with a stethoscope that had belonged to his grandmother's doctor. Arthur Pemberton III listened to her heart for forty-five seconds. Then he...
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