The Water Bearer

Two weeks later, everything was planted, the lawn was freshly clipped, and Jim was pruning hedges and bushes near the house.

He stopped to drink from a glass of lemonade Grace had brought him earlier.

A shadow fell over him, though, startling him enough to slosh cold liquid down the front of his shirt.

“Sorry,” came a quiet voice, and Jim turned to see Dr. Wilson.

The doctor was young, not much older than 30, with pale skin, brown hair and large, brilliant eyes behind wire spectacles. He was dressed simply in a pair of khaki trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Thin and sinewy, Dr. Wilson still seemed puffed up to Jim; not with pride or vanity, mind you, but with something held in.





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