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Part II

           Afterthat,wheneverydoctorwasaccompaniedonhisvisitsbyavolunteerinspector,Rieuxwasagainabletorunfromonepatienttothenext.Butatthebeginning,everyeveningwasliketheonewhenhehadcomeintoMmeLoret’s,inalittleapartmentdecoratedwithfansandartificialflowers,tobegreetedbythemotherwhosaidwithaforcedsmile:

           "Idohopeit’snotthatfeverthateveryone’stalkingabout."Andhe,turningbackthesheetandthenightdress,staredinsilenceattheredpatchesonthebellyandthethighs,andtheswollenlymphnodes.Themotherlookedbetweenherdaughter’slegsandhowled,unabletocontrolherself.Everyeveningmotherswouldshoutlikethat,inadistraughtmanner,atthesightofbelliesdisplayingalltheirsignsofdeath;everyeveninghandswouldgraspRieux’sarms,whileuselesswords,promisesandtearspouredforth;andeveryeveningtheambulancesirenwouldsetoffscenesofdistressaspointlessasanykindofpain.Attheendofalongsuccessionofsuchevenings,eachlikethenext,Rieuxcouldnolongerhopeforanythingexceptacontinuingseriesofsimilarscenes,foreverrepeated.Yes,theplague,likeabstraction,wasmonotonous.Onlyonethingmayhavechanged,andthatwasRieuxhimself.Hefeltitthatevening,beneaththemonumenttotheRepublic,awareonlyofthehardindifferencethatwasstartingtofillhim,stilllookingatthehoteldoorwhereRamberthadvanished.

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