Many came to see the rooms where The Spider had made his last venomous
fight, men who had never turned a card in their lives, and who doubted
the rumors current in the sporting world until actually in the room and
listening to the faro-dealer's cold and impassive account of the men
and the battle. And more often than not these curious souls, who came
to scoff, remained to play.
Pete, convalescing rapidly, had asked day after day if he might not be
allowed to sit with the other patients who, warmly blanketed, enjoyed
the sunshine on the wide veranda overlooking the city. One morning
Andover gave his consent, restricting Pete's first visit to thirty
minutes. Pete was only too glad of a respite from the monotony of
back-rest and pillow, bare walls, and the essential but soul-wearying
regularity of professional attention.
Not until Doris had helped him into the wheel-chair did he realize how
weak he was.
Out on the veranda, his weakness, the pallid faces of the other
convalescents, and even Doris herself, were forgotten as he gazed
across the city and beyond to the sunlit spaces softly glowing beneath
a cloudless sky.
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