The patient glanced gratitude. "That one
again," she said once more, half indicating a cot at a little distance:
"Number 74. She has much the same thin hair--sparse, weak, and
colourless. She has much the same curved back, and much the same
aggressive, self-assertive features. Looks capable, doesn't she? A born
housewife!... Well, she, too, was knocked down and kicked half-dead the
other night by her husband."
"It is certainly odd," I answered, "how very much they both recall--"
"Our friend at lunch! Yes, extraordinary. See here"; she pulled out a
pencil and drew the quick outline of a face in her note-book. "THAT
is what is central and essential to the type. They have THIS sort of
profile. Women with faces like that ALWAYS get assaulted."
Travers glanced over her shoulder. "Quite true," he assented, with his
bourgeois nod. "Nurse Wade in her time has shown me dozens of them.
Round dozens: bakers' dozens! They all belong to that species. In fact,
when a woman of this type is brought in to us wounded now, I ask at
once, 'Husband?' and the invariable answer comes pat: 'Well, yes, sir;
we had some words together.' The effect of words, my dear fellow, is
something truly surprising.
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