THE UNPLEASANT PROFESSION OF JONATHAN HOAG
«Is it blood, doctor?» Jonathan Hoag moistened his lips with his tongue and leaned forward in the chair, trying to see what was written on the slip of paper the medico held. Dr. Potbury brought the slip of paper closer to his vest and looked at Hoag over his spectacles. «Any particular reason,» he asked, «why you should find blood under your fingernails?» «No. That is to say— Well, no—there isn’t. But it is blood—isn’t it?»
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