And he reckoned it was nobody's business if he did.
He had avoided going near the General Hospital in his strolls about
town, viewing that building from a safe distance and imagining all
sorts of things. Perhaps Miss Gray had left. Perhaps she was ill. Or
she might have married! Still, she would have told him, he thought.
Doris never knew what a struggle it cost Pete--to say nothing of hard
cash--to purchase that bottle of perfume. But he did it, marching into
a drug-store and asking for a bottle of "the best they had," and paying
for it without a quiver. Back in his room he emptied about half of the
bottle on his handkerchief, wedged the handkerchief into his pocket,
and marched to the street, determination in his eye, and the fumes of
half a vial of Frangipanni floating in his wake.
Perhaps the Frangipanni stimulated him. Perhaps the overdose deadened
his decision to stay away from the hospital. In any event, that
afternoon he betook himself to the hospital, and was fortunate in
finding Andover there, to whom he confided the obvious news that he was
in town--and that he would like to see little Ruth for a minute, if it
was all right.
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