her heart had stopped beating and that every nerve in her body was suddenly tense.
“You have not contracted the disease which killed your mother,” he said, “but you have in fact only three weeks to live!”
Going back to the little house in Eaton Terrace, Larina could not believe that she had actually heard Sir John say the words.
It seemed as if her mind had ceased to function and she told herself that what he had told her was impossible to believe as the truth.
As she journeyed part of the way in the horse-drawn omnibus, she found herself looking at the passengers and wondering what they would say if she told them that a sentence of death had just been passed upon her.
After Sir John had spoken she had stared at him with wide eyes, shocked to the point when her voice seemed strangled in her throat.
“I am sorry to have to tell you this,” Sir John said, “but I can assure you that I am absolutely certain of my facts. You have a heart complaint which is very rare, but it is in fact a disease I have been studying for many years.”
He cleared his throat and went on:
“Every Doctor who suspects it sends his patients to me for a final diagnosis, so I cannot suggest that you have a second opinion.”
“Is it ... painful?” Larina managed to gasp.
“In most cases there is no pain whatsoever,” Sir John said reassuringly. “I will not burden you with the medical details, but what happens in fact is that your heart suddenly ceases to beat. It may happen when you are asleep, it may occur when you are walking, sitting, even dancing.”
“And ... there is no ... cure?” Larina asked in a shocked tone.
“None that is known at the moment to the medical profession,” Sir John replied. “What I can tell you, as an authority, is that it happens instantly, and when it is diagnosed the patient usually has exactly twenty-one days before the end comes.”
“Twenty-one days!” Larina echoed faintly.
As she walked through Sloane Square towards Eaton Terrace she felt that her footsteps echoed the number on the pavement. Twenty-one! Twenty-one! Twenty-one!
That meant, she told herself, that she would die on the 15th of April.
It was a time of year, she thought inconsequentially, she had always loved. The daffodils would be out, there would be blossoms on the trees, the chestnuts would be coming into bloom and the sunshine would be particularly welcome because one had missed it during the winter.
On the 16th of April she would no longer be here to enjoy it!
She took her key out of her hand-bag and opened the door of number 68 Eaton Terrace.
As she let herself into the narrow Hall, off which opened a small Dining-Room with a tiny Study behind it, she was conscious of the silence and the loneliness of the empty house.
If only her mother were in the Drawing-Room she could run to her to tell her what had happened!
Her mother would have put out her arms and held her close.
But there was no-one to help her now and taking off her hat, Larina walked slowly up the stairs.
Some detached part of her mind noted that the stair - carpet was very worn: it must have been given hard wear while they were away in Switzerland. Then almost sharply she told herself it was of no consequence.
In twenty-one days she would not be in the house to notice that the carpet was threadbare, that the curtains had faded in the Drawing-Room or the brass bedstead in her room had lost a knob.
Twenty-one days!
She went up another flight of stairs to her bed-room.
There were only two bed-rooms in the house, unless one counted a dark airless place in the basement which had been intended for a maid they could not afford.
Her mother had occupied the front room on the second floor and she had a small slip of a room behind it.
She went into it now and looked round her. All her possessions were here, all the small treasures she had accumulated since childhood.
There w a s even a Teddy Bear she had loved and taken to bed with her for many
“You have not contracted the disease which killed your mother,” he said, “but you have in fact only three weeks to live!”
Going back to the little house in Eaton Terrace, Larina could not believe that she had actually heard Sir John say the words.
It seemed as if her mind had ceased to function and she told herself that what he had told her was impossible to believe as the truth.
As she journeyed part of the way in the horse-drawn omnibus, she found herself looking at the passengers and wondering what they would say if she told them that a sentence of death had just been passed upon her.
After Sir John had spoken she had stared at him with wide eyes, shocked to the point when her voice seemed strangled in her throat.
“I am sorry to have to tell you this,” Sir John said, “but I can assure you that I am absolutely certain of my facts. You have a heart complaint which is very rare, but it is in fact a disease I have been studying for many years.”
He cleared his throat and went on:
“Every Doctor who suspects it sends his patients to me for a final diagnosis, so I cannot suggest that you have a second opinion.”
“Is it ... painful?” Larina managed to gasp.
“In most cases there is no pain whatsoever,” Sir John said reassuringly. “I will not burden you with the medical details, but what happens in fact is that your heart suddenly ceases to beat. It may happen when you are asleep, it may occur when you are walking, sitting, even dancing.”
“And ... there is no ... cure?” Larina asked in a shocked tone.
“None that is known at the moment to the medical profession,” Sir John replied. “What I can tell you, as an authority, is that it happens instantly, and when it is diagnosed the patient usually has exactly twenty-one days before the end comes.”
“Twenty-one days!” Larina echoed faintly.
As she walked through Sloane Square towards Eaton Terrace she felt that her footsteps echoed the number on the pavement. Twenty-one! Twenty-one! Twenty-one!
That meant, she told herself, that she would die on the 15th of April.
It was a time of year, she thought inconsequentially, she had always loved. The daffodils would be out, there would be blossoms on the trees, the chestnuts would be coming into bloom and the sunshine would be particularly welcome because one had missed it during the winter.
On the 16th of April she would no longer be here to enjoy it!
She took her key out of her hand-bag and opened the door of number 68 Eaton Terrace.
As she let herself into the narrow Hall, off which opened a small Dining-Room with a tiny Study behind it, she was conscious of the silence and the loneliness of the empty house.
If only her mother were in the Drawing-Room she could run to her to tell her what had happened!
Her mother would have put out her arms and held her close.
But there was no-one to help her now and taking off her hat, Larina walked slowly up the stairs.
Some detached part of her mind noted that the stair - carpet was very worn: it must have been given hard wear while they were away in Switzerland. Then almost sharply she told herself it was of no consequence.
In twenty-one days she would not be in the house to notice that the carpet was threadbare, that the curtains had faded in the Drawing-Room or the brass bedstead in her room had lost a knob.
Twenty-one days!
She went up another flight of stairs to her bed-room.
There were only two bed-rooms in the house, unless one counted a dark airless place in the basement which had been intended for a maid they could not afford.
Her mother had occupied the front room on the second floor and she had a small slip of a room behind it.
She went into it now and looked round her. All her possessions were here, all the small treasures she had accumulated since childhood.
There w a s even a Teddy Bear she had loved and taken to bed with her for many
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