The Harmless Thoughts of a London Gynecologist
“Do you feel anything, Mrs. Mangrum? Any sensitivity?”
“It pinches, Doctor, it does.”
“Where does it PINCH, as you say?”
“It’s there, Doctor. I can feel it. There.”
“That’s just the probe, I’m afraid, Mrs. Mangrum.”
“No, Doctor. I can feel it.”
“You’re sure now?
“It’s there, I tell you. There where you are now.”
“Not that I can see, no, Mrs. Mangrum.”
“But I can feel it.”
“That’s the speculum you’re detecting, dear girl. There’s bound to be a certain discomfort, what with the speculum and all. There’s bound to be a few things we just have to give a grit to.”
“My mind’s playing tricks on me, you mean? You mean—“
Then, allowing her her scent, putting his fingertip to her lips, offering her her circumstances, “Here, Mrs. Mangrum, let’s just adjust your stirrups. The more you struggle, the longer this will take.” The mesh of his plated watchband catches a few strands of hair as he takes a step back, as the back of his glove brushes the flush of her cheek. “All right now? All right?”
