Alexei Alexeivich Harlamoff paintings
Aubrey Beardsley paintings
Andrea del Sarto paintings
The corridors were loud with relayed music. Miles found the hut he sought. It was marked “Experimental Surgery. Officers Only.” He found the cubicle. He found Clara sleeping, the sheet pulled up to her eyes, her hair loose on the pillow. She had brought some of her property with her. An old shawl lay across the bed table. A painted fan stood against the television set. She awoke, her eyes full of frank welcome, and pulled the sheet higher, speaking through it.
“Darling, you shouldn’t have come. I was keeping it for a surprise.”
Miles sat by the bed and thought of nothing to say except: “How are you?”
“Wonderful. They’ve taken the bandages off today. They won’t let me have a looking glass yet but they say everything has been a tremendous success. I’m something very special, Miles—a new chapter in surgical progress.”
“But what has happened to you? Is it something to do with the baby?”
“Oh no. At least, it was. That was the first operation. But that’s all over
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