Stamboul Train

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Book: Read Stamboul Train for Free Online
Authors: Graham Greene
them, and Myatt spoke to her, asking for her bag: ‘I’ll see to your things.’ She gave him her bag and helped by the doctor sat up against the wall.
    â€˜Passport?’
    The doctor said slowly, and she became aware for the first time of his accent: ‘My bags are in the first class. I can’t leave this lady. I am a doctor.’
    â€˜English passport?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜All right.’ Another man came up to them. ‘Luggage?’
    â€˜Nothing to declare.’ The man went on.
    Coral Musker smiled. ‘Is this really the frontier? Why, one could smuggle anything in. They don’t look at the bags at all.’
    â€˜Anything,’ the doctor said, ‘with an English passport.’ He watched the man out of sight and said nothing more until Myatt returned. ‘I could go back to my carriage now,’ she said.
    â€˜Have you a sleeper?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Are you getting out at Cologne?’
    â€˜I’m going all the way.’
    He gave her the same advice as the purser had done. ‘You should have had a sleeper.’ The uselessness of it irritated her and made her for a moment forget her pity for his age and anxiety. ‘How could I have a sleeper? I’m in the chorus.’ He flashed back at her with astonishing bitterness, ‘No, you have not the money.’
    â€˜What shall I do?’ she asked him. ‘Am I ill?’
    â€˜How can I advise you?’ he protested. ‘If you were rich I should say: Take six months’ holiday. Go to North Africa. You fainted because of the crossing, because of the cold. Oh yes, I can tell you all that, but that’s nothing. Your heart’s bad. You’ve been overstraining it for years.’
    She implored him, a little frightened, ‘But what shall I do?’ He opened his hands: ‘Nothing. Carry on. Take what rest you can. Keep warm. You wear too little.’
    A whistle blew, and the train trembled into movement. The station lamps sailed by them into darkness, and the doctor turned to leave her. ‘If you want me again, I’m three coaches farther up. My name is John. Dr John.’ She said with intimated politeness, ‘Mine’s Coral Musker.’ He gave her a little formal foreign bow and walked away. She saw in his eyes other thoughts falling like rain. Never before had she the sensation of being so instantly forgotten. ‘A girl that men forget,’ she hummed to keep up her courage.
    But the doctor had not passed out of hearing before he was stopped. Treading softly and carefully along the shaking train, a hand clinging to the corridor rail, came a small pale man. She heard him speak to the doctor, ‘Is anything the matter? Can I help?’ He was a foot shorter and she laughed aloud at the sight of his avid face peering upwards. ‘You mustn’t think me inquisitive,’ he said, one hand on the other’s sleeve. ‘A clergyman in my compartment thought someone was ill.’ He added with eagerness, ‘I said I’d find out.’
    Up and down, up and down the corridor she had seen the doctor walking, clinging to its emptiness in preference to a compartment shared. Now, through no mistake on his part, he found himself in a crowd, questions and appeals sticking to his mind like burrs. She expected an outbreak, some damning critical remark which would send the fellow quivering down the corridor.
    The softness of his reply surprised her. ‘Did you say a priest?’
    â€˜Oh no,’ the man apologized, ‘I don’t know yet what sect, what creed. Why? Is somebody dying?’
    Dr John seemed to become aware of her fear and called down the corridor a reassurance before he brushed by the detaining hand. The little man remained for a moment in happy possession of a situation. When he had tasted it to the full, he approached. ‘What’s it all about?’
    She took no notice, appealing to the only friendly

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