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hurt?”
    “Not really,” Claire answered, wincing a bit. “I think it was a good treatment.”
    After the doctor performed the same treatment, though a bit harsher, on Dora, she decreed that three or four weeks of the fast, coupled with vigorous exercise, would eliminate the poisons from their bodies.
    “You shall be in complete and perfect health.”
    As they stood to leave, Claire and Dora noticed an imposing man with black hair and an enormous moustache standing by a window in the waiting area. Linda Hazzard motioned in his direction.
    “Ladies, my husband, Samuel.”
    Sam Hazzard was handsome, a little over six feet tall, and broad-shouldered. A big man, there could be no doubt. He had hands the size of washboards.
    “My pleasure,” he said, brushing past as he made his way to a desk in the corner. “I trust you ladies had a satisfactory treatment.”
    Dora blushed and nodded. Claire merely smiled.
    Like his wife, Sam Hazzard bore the kind of confidence of someone who knew exactly where he fit in. And quite possibly that was an accurate assessment. The West Point man was the sanitarium business manager, the promoter for his wife’s long-dreamed-of enterprise. It was his pamphlet tucked inside the fasting book that inspired the sisters to come to Seattle for treatment. But as his wife quickly announced to the refined English ladies, Samuel was also a gifted musician and teacher. He was affiliated with the Columbia College of Music, where he offered tutoring and individual instruction.
    There was something about Sam Hazzard that indicated a darker, unsavory side. Dora picked it up before Claire. The air around the doctor’s husband wafted an odor of alcohol, slight, nearly imperceptible, yet it was there, nevertheless. The whites around his grey-blue eyes were flecked with the vermilion of broken capillaries.
    Though neither sister knew it at the time, the imposing man’s troubles were rooted deeply in the past.
             
    L INDA HAZZARD was the cocksure voice of experience. She stood before the sisters with complete confidence in her dietary regimen. It was so simple, yet so effective. She told her new patients that they were to prepare a vegetable broth by boiling tomatoes in a quart of water. When it reduced to about a pint of tomato stock it was ready.
    “How are we to season it?” Claire asked.
    “No seasonings, except the very smallest bit of butter, the size of your thumbnail. No more.”
    “No salt?”
    “No, dear. No salt, no sugar either.”
    “How much are we to drink?” Dora inquired.
    “I’m getting to that,” the doctor smiled. “The fast calls for a cup of this broth twice a day. Later, we will vary the stock to include an asparagus broth, and some orange juice will be allowed in the mornings.”
    Dr. Hazzard instructed the sisters on the necessity of an exercise program that included vigorous walks several times a day.
    “Your bodies are full of poison,” she explained. “You need to walk it out. No matter how difficult it may be as the fast continues, you must persevere and walk. Walk! Walk! Walk!”
    The sisters were excited, though Dora, in particular, had hoped the fast included more variety. She felt Claire had involved her in the program, and while Dora was ready and willing, she might not have done so on her own. And as they left for their apartment, the doctor told them she would see them in her office every day except Saturday and Sunday for enemas and osteopathic massage.
    “Remember, girls, your bodies will be clean and you will be in perfect health!”
    That afternoon, as the sun began to lapse behind the snowy Olympics, Dora and Claire unloaded their trunks into their apartment on the third floor at the Buena Vista. Disappointed that the respite in the country sanitarium had been delayed, but quite pleased with the doctor’s plans for treatment, the Williamson sisters told each other they were well on their way to good health. Clouded by giddy enthusiasm,