"No,—Kit. The temperature normal; the arm half its size."
Sorrell staggered up out of the chair.
"My God!" he said; "then, the arm and everything?"
She nodded.
"I left that Orange man with an awful beard on, grinning like an ecstatic ape. O,—my dear!"
She had to catch him, and help him back into the chair.
"I'm getting old," he said; "my God,—I'm getting old."
