Vigil
The two of them entered expecting to find him tuning his permanently out-of-tune violin, smoking his clay pipe incessantly, or even merely sitting there, his eyes vacant and expressionless as he pondered intensely the problem before him.
Neither could resist crying out in pure, uncontrolled horror upon finding him curled upon the cold, hard, chalk-covered floor, twitching and whimpering feebly, sweat gleaming on his furrowed brow and coating his pale, pale flesh.
Only when he nearly collapsed after six-hours' vigil did she finally convince the half-dead doctor to allow her to take a turn caring for his fever-worn friend.
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