He looked like a man who had forgotten he was allowed to be happy.
Rosalie found herself smiling too.
But he still did not answer.
Dr. Whitcomb was younger than Rosalie expected, perhaps forty-five, with spectacles that constantly slipped down his nose.
He examined Gideon’s ear for nearly twenty minutes.
His expression gradually changed.
Confusion.
Concern.
Then disbelief.
He examined the object Rosalie had removed.
“Where did you say this came from?”
“His ear.”
Whitcomb turned it beneath a magnifying glass.
“And you removed it yourself?”
Rosalie nodded.
“With sewing tweezers.”
The doctor slowly looked at her.
“I would normally give you a lecture about attempting medical procedures without training.”
Rosalie folded her hands.
“But?”
“But I suspect you may have saved him from a much worse infection.”
Gideon watched their faces, unable to follow the conversation.
