["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> CHAPTER XV\n\n\nTHAT December she was in love with her husband. She romanticized herself not as a great reformer but as the wife of a\ncountry physician. The realities of the doctor's household were colored\nby her pride. Late at night, a step on the wooden porch, heard through her confusion\nof sleep; the storm-door opened; fumbling over the inner door-panels;\nthe buzz of the electric bell. Kennicott muttering \"Gol darn it,\" but\npatiently creeping out of bed, remembering to draw the covers up to keep\nher warm, feeling for slippers and bathrobe, clumping down-stairs. From below, half-heard in her drowsiness, a colloquy in the\npidgin-German of the farmers who have forgotten the Old Country language\nwithout learning the new:\n\n\"Hello, Barney, wass willst du?\" \"Morgen, doctor. Die Frau ist ja awful sick. All night she been having\nan awful pain in de belly.\" \"How long she been this way? Wie lang, eh?\" \"I dunno, maybe two days.\" \"Why didn't you come for me yesterday, instead of waking me up out of a\nsound sleep? Here it is two o'clock! So spat--warum, eh?\" \"Nun aber, I know it, but she got soch a lot vorse last evening. I\nt'ought maybe all de time it go avay, but it got a lot vorse.\" \"Any fever?\" \"Vell ja, I t'ink she got fever.\" \"Which side is the pain on?\" \"Huh?\" \"Das Schmertz--die Weh--which side is it on? Here?\" \"So. Right here it is.\" \"Any rigidity there?\" \"Huh?\" \"Is it rigid--stiff--I mean, does the belly feel hard to the fingers?\" \"I dunno. She ain't said yet.\" \"What she been eating?\" \"Vell, I t'ink about vot ve alwis eat, maybe corn beef and cabbage and\nsausage, und so weiter. Doc, sie weint immer, all the time she holler\nlike hell. I vish you come.\" \"Well, all right, but you call me earlier, next time. Look here, Barney,\nyou better install a 'phone--telephone haben. Some of you Dutchmen will\nbe dying one of these days before you can fetch the doctor.\" The door closing. Barney's wagon--the wheels silent in the snow, but the\nwagon-body rattling. Kennicott clicking the receiver-hook to rouse the\nnight telephone-operator, giving a number, waiting, cursing mildly,\nwaiting again, and at last growling, \"Hello, Gus, this is the doctor. Say, uh, send me up a team. Guess snow's too thick for a machine. Going\neight miles south. All right. Huh? The hell I will! Don't you go back\nto sleep. Huh? Well, that's all right now, you didn't wait so very darn\nlong. All right, Gus; shoot her along. By!\" His step on the stairs; his quiet moving about the frigid room while he\ndressed; his abstracted and meaningless cough. She was supposed to be\nasleep; she was too exquisitely drowsy to break the charm by speaking. On a slip of paper laid on the bureau--she could hear the pencil\ngrinding against the marble slab--he wrote his destination. He went out,\nhungry, chilly, unprotesting; and she, before she fell asleep again,\nloved him for his sturdiness, and saw the drama of his riding by night\nto the frightened household on the distant farm; pictured children\nstanding at a window, waiting for him. He suddenly had in her eyes the\nheroism of a wireless operator on a ship in a collision; of an explorer,\nfever-clawed, deserted by his bearers, but going on--jungle--going----\n\nAt six, when the light faltered in as through ground glass and bleakly\nidentified the chairs as gray rectangles, she heard his step on the\nporch; heard him at the furnace: the rattle of shaking the grate, the\nslow grinding removal of ashes, the shovel thrust into the coal-bin,\nthe abrupt clatter of the coal as it flew into the fire-box, the fussy\nregulation of drafts--the daily sounds of a Gopher Prairie life, now\nfirst appealing to her as something brave and enduring, many-colored\nand free. She visioned the fire-box: flames turned to lemon and metallic\ngold as the coal-dust sifted over them; thin twisty flutters of purple,\nghost flames which gave no light, slipping up between the dark banked\ncoals. It was luxurious in bed, and the house would be warm for her when\nshe rose, she reflected. What a worthless cat she was! What were her\naspirations beside his capability? She awoke again as he dropped into bed. \"Seems just a few minutes ago that you started out!\" \"I've been away four hours. I've operated a woman for appendicitis, in\na Dutch kitchen. Came awful close to losing her, too, but I pulled her\nthrough all right. Close squeak. Barney says he shot ten rabbits last\nSunday.\" He was instantly asleep--one hour of rest before he had to be up and\nready for the farmers who came in early. She marveled that in what was\nto her but a night-blurred moment, he should have been in a distant\nplace, have taken charge of a strange house, have slashed a woman, saved\na life. What wonder he detested the lazy Westlake and McGanum! How could the\neasy Guy Pollock understand this skill and endurance? Then Kennicott was grumbling, \"Seven-fifteen! Aren't you ever going\nto get up for breakfast?\" and he was not a hero-scientist but a rather\nirritable and commonplace man who needed a shave. They had coffee,\ngriddle-cakes, and sausages, and talked about Mrs. McGanum's atrocious\nalligator-hide belt. Night witchery and morning disillusion were alike\nforgotten in the march of realities and days. II\n\nFamiliar to the doctor's wife was the man with an injured leg, driven in\nfrom the country on a Sunday afternoon and brought to the house. He\nsat in a rocker in the back of a lumber-wagon, his face pale from the\nanguish of the jolting. His leg was thrust out before him, resting on\na starch-box and covered with a leather-bound horse-blanket. His drab\ncourageous wife drove the wagon, and she helped Kennicott support him as\nhe hobbled up the steps, into the house. \"Fellow cut his leg with an ax--pretty bad gash--Halvor Nelson, nine\nmiles out,\" Kennicott observed. Carol fluttered at the back of the room, childishly excited when she was\nsent to fetch towels and a basin of water. Kennicott lifted the farmer\ninto a chair and chuckled, \"There we are, Halvor! We'll have you out\nfixing fences and drinking aquavit in a month.\" The farmwife sat on\nthe couch, expressionless, bulky in a man's dogskin coat and unplumbed\nlayers of jackets. The flowery silk handkerchief which she had worn over\nher head now hung about her seamed neck. Her white wool gloves lay in\nher lap. Kennicott drew from the injured leg the thick red \"German sock,\" the\ninnumerous other socks of gray and white wool, then the spiral bandage. The leg was of an unwholesome dead white, with the black hairs feeble\nand thin and flattened, and the scar a puckered line of crimson. Surely,\nCarol shuddered, this was not human flesh, the rosy shining tissue of\nthe amorous poets. Kennicott examined the scar, smiled at Halvor and his wife, chanted,\n\"Fine, b' gosh! Couldn't be better!\" The Nelsons looked deprecating. The farmer nodded a cue to his wife and\nshe mourned:\n\n\"Vell, how much ve going to owe you, doctor?\" \"I guess it'll be----Let's see: one drive out and two calls. I guess\nit'll be about eleven dollars in all, Lena.\" \"I dunno ve can pay you yoost a little w'ile, doctor.\" Kennicott lumbered over to her, patted her shoulder, roared, \"Why, Lord\nlove you, sister, I won't worry if I never get it! You pay me next fall,\nwhen you get your crop. . . . Carrie! Suppose you or Bea could shake up\na cup of coffee and some cold lamb for the Nelsons? They got a long cold\ndrive ahead.\" III\n\n\nHe had been gone since morning; her eyes ached with reading; Vida\nSherwin could not come to tea. She wandered through the house, empty as\nthe bleary street without.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The problem of \"Will the doctor be home in\ntime for supper, or shall I sit down without him?\" was important in\nthe household. Six was the rigid, the canonical supper-hour, but at\nhalf-past six he had not come. Much speculation with Bea: Had the\nobstetrical case taken longer than he had expected? Had he been called\nsomewhere else? Was the snow much heavier out in the country, so that he\nshould have taken a buggy, or even a cutter, instead of the car? Here in\ntown it had melted a lot, but still----\n\nA honking, a shout, the motor engine raced before it was shut off. She hurried to the window. The car was a monster at rest after furious\nadventures. The headlights blazed on the clots of ice in the road so\nthat the tiniest lumps gave mountainous shadows, and the taillight cast\na circle of ruby on the snow behind. Kennicott was opening the door,\ncrying, \"Here we are, old girl! Got stuck couple times, but we made it,\nby golly, we made it, and here we be! Come on! Food! Eatin's!\" She rushed to him, patted his fur coat, the long hairs smooth but chilly\nto her fingers. She joyously summoned Bea, \"All right! He's here! We'll\nsit right down!\" IV\n\n\nThere were, to inform the doctor's wife of his successes no clapping\naudiences nor book-reviews nor honorary degrees. But there was a\nletter written by a German farmer recently moved from Minnesota to\nSaskatchewan:\n\n\nDear sor, as you haf bin treading mee for a fue Weaks dis Somer and\nseen wat is rong wit mee so in Regarding to dat i wont to tank you. the\nDoctor heir say wat shot bee rong wit mee and day give mee som Madsin\nbut it diten halp mee like wat you dit. Now day glaim dat i Woten Neet\naney Madsin ad all wat you tink? Well i haven ben tacking aney ting for about one & 1/2 Mont but i dont\nget better so i like to heir Wat you tink about it i feel like dis\nDisconfebil feeling around the Stomac after eating and dat Pain around\nHeard and down the arm and about 3 to 3 1/2 Hour after Eating i feel\nweeak like and dissy and a dull Hadig. Now you gust lett mee know Wat\nyou tink about mee, i do Wat you say. V\n\n\nShe encountered Guy Pollock at the drug store. He looked at her as\nthough he had a right to; he spoke softly. \"I haven't see you, the last\nfew days.\" \"No. I've been out in the country with Will several times. He's so----Do\nyou know that people like you and me can never understand people like\nhim? We're a pair of hypercritical loafers, you and I, while he quietly\ngoes and does things.\" She nodded and smiled and was very busy about purchasing boric acid. He\nstared after her, and slipped away. When she found that he was gone she was slightly disconcerted. VI\n\n\nShe could--at times--agree with Kennicott that the shaving-and-corsets\nfamiliarity of married life was not dreary vulgarity but a wholesome\nfrankness; that artificial reticences might merely be irritating. She\nwas not much disturbed when for hours he sat about the living-room in\nhis honest socks. But she would not listen to his theory that \"all this\nromance stuff is simply moonshine--elegant when you're courting, but no\nuse busting yourself keeping it up all your life.\" She thought of surprises, games, to vary the days. She knitted an\nastounding purple scarf, which she hid under his supper plate. (When\nhe discovered it he looked embarrassed, and gasped, \"Is today an\nanniversary or something? Gosh, I'd forgotten it!\") Once she filled a thermos bottle with hot coffee a corn-flakes box with\ncookies just baked by Bea, and bustled to his office at three in the\nafternoon. She hid her bundles in the hall and peeped in. The office was shabby. Kennicott had inherited it from a medical\npredecessor, and changed it only by adding a white enameled\noperating-table, a sterilizer, a Roentgen-ray apparatus, and a small\nportable typewriter. It was a suite of two rooms: a waiting-room with\nstraight chairs, shaky pine table, and those coverless and unknown\nmagazines which are found only in the offices of dentists and\ndoctors. The room beyond, looking on Main Street, was business-office,\nconsulting-room, operating-room, and, in an alcove, bacteriological\nand chemical laboratory. The wooden floors of both rooms were bare; the\nfurniture was brown and scaly. Waiting for the doctor were two women, as still as though they were\nparalyzed, and a man in a railroad brakeman's uniform, holding his\nbandaged right hand with his tanned left. They stared at Carol. She sat\nmodestly in a stiff chair, feeling frivolous and out of place. Kennicott appeared at the inner door, ushering out a bleached man with\na trickle of wan beard, and consoling him, \"All right, Dad. Be careful\nabout the sugar, and mind the diet I gave you. Gut the prescription\nfilled, and come in and see me next week. Say, uh, better, uh, better\nnot drink too much beer. All right, Dad.\" His voice was artificially hearty. He looked absently at Carol. He was\na medical machine now, not a domestic machine. \"What is it, Carrie?\" he\ndroned. \"No hurry. Just wanted to say hello.\" \"Well----\"\n\nSelf-pity because he did not divine that this was a surprise party\nrendered her sad and interesting to herself, and she had the pleasure of\nthe martyrs in saying bravely to him, \"It's nothing special. If you're\nbusy long I'll trot home.\" While she waited she ceased to pity and began to mock herself. For the\nfirst time she observed the waiting-room. Oh yes, the doctor's family\nhad to have obi panels and a wide couch and an electric percolator, but\nany hole was good enough for sick tired common people who were nothing\nbut the one means and excuse for the doctor's existing! No. She couldn't\nblame Kennicott. He was satisfied by the shabby chairs. He put up with\nthem as his patients did. It was her neglected province--she who had\nbeen going about talking of rebuilding the whole town! When the patients were gone she brought in her bundles. \"What's those?\" wondered Kennicott. \"Turn your back! Look out of the window!\" He obeyed--not very much bored. When she cried \"Now!\" a feast of cookies\nand small hard candies and hot coffee was spread on the roll-top desk in\nthe inner room. His broad face lightened. \"That's a new one on me! Never was more\nsurprised in my life! And, by golly, I believe I am hungry. Say, this is\nfine.\" When the first exhilaration of the surprise had declined she demanded,\n\"Will! I'm going to refurnish your waiting-room!\" \"What's the matter with it? It's all right.\" \"It is not! It's hideous. We can afford to give your patients a better\nplace. And it would be good business.\" She felt tremendously politic. \"Rats! I don't worry about the business. You look here now: As I told\nyou----Just because I like to tuck a few dollars away, I'll be switched\nif I'll stand for your thinking I'm nothing but a dollar-chasing----\"\n\n\"Stop it! Quick! I'm not hurting your feelings! I'm not criticizing! I'm\nthe adoring least one of thy harem. I just mean----\"\n\nTwo days later, with pictures, wicker chairs, a rug, she had made the\nwaiting-room habitable; and Kennicott admitted, \"Does look a lot better. Never thought much about it. Guess I need being bullied.\" She was convinced that she was gloriously content in her career as\ndoctor's-wife. VII\n\n\nShe tried to free herself from the speculation and disillusionment which\nhad been twitching at her; sought to dismiss all the opinionation of an\ninsurgent era. She wanted to shine upon the veal-faced bristly-bearded\nLyman Cass as much as upon Miles Bjornstam or Guy Pollock. She gave a\nreception for the Thanatopsis Club. But her real acquiring of merit\nwas in calling upon that Mrs. Bogart whose gossipy good opinion was so\nvaluable to a doctor. Though the Bogart house was next door she had entered it but three\ntimes.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Now she put on her new moleskin cap, which made her face small\nand innocent, she rubbed off the traces of a lip-stick--and fled across\nthe alley before her admirable resolution should sneak away. The age of houses, like the age of men, has small relation to their\nyears. The dull-green cottage of the good Widow Bogart was twenty years\nold, but it had the antiquity of Cheops, and the smell of mummy-dust. Its neatness rebuked the street. The two stones by the path were painted\nyellow; the outhouse was so overmodestly masked with vines and lattice\nthat it was not concealed at all; the last iron dog remaining in Gopher\nPrairie stood among whitewashed conch-shells upon the lawn. The hallway\nwas dismayingly scrubbed; the kitchen was an exercise in mathematics,\nwith problems worked out in equidistant chairs. The parlor was kept for visitors. Carol suggested, \"Let's sit in the\nkitchen. Please don't trouble to light the parlor stove.\" \"No trouble at all! My gracious, and you coming so seldom and all, and\nthe kitchen is a perfect sight, I try to keep it clean, but Cy will\ntrack mud all over it, I've spoken to him about it a hundred times if\nI've spoken once, no, you sit right there, dearie, and I'll make a fire,\nno trouble at all, practically no trouble at all.\" Mrs. Bogart groaned, rubbed her joints, and repeatedly dusted her hands\nwhile she made the fire, and when Carol tried to help she lamented,\n\"Oh, it doesn't matter; guess I ain't good for much but toil and workin'\nanyway; seems as though that's what a lot of folks think.\" The parlor was distinguished by an expanse of rag carpet from which, as\nthey entered, Mrs. Bogart hastily picked one sad dead fly. In the center\nof the carpet was a rug depicting a red Newfoundland dog, reclining in a\ngreen and yellow daisy field and labeled \"Our Friend.\" The parlor organ,\ntall and thin, was adorned with a mirror partly circular, partly square,\nand partly diamond-shaped, and with brackets holding a pot of geraniums,\na mouth-organ, and a copy of \"The Oldtime Hymnal.\" On the center\ntable was a Sears-Roebuck mail-order catalogue, a silver frame with\nphotographs of the Baptist Church and of an elderly clergyman, and\nan aluminum tray containing a rattlesnake's rattle and a broken\nspectacle-lens. Mrs. Bogart spoke of the eloquence of the Reverend Mr. Zitterel,\nthe coldness of cold days, the price of poplar wood, Dave Dyer's new\nhair-cut, and Cy Bogart's essential piety. \"As I said to his Sunday\nSchool teacher, Cy may be a little wild, but that's because he's got so\nmuch better brains than a lot of these boys, and this farmer that claims\nhe caught Cy stealing 'beggies, is a liar, and I ought to have the law\non him.\" Mrs. Bogart went thoroughly into the rumor that the girl waiter at\nBilly's Lunch was not all she might be--or, rather, was quite all she\nmight be. \"My lands, what can you expect when everybody knows what her mother was? And if these traveling salesmen would let her alone she would be all\nright, though I certainly don't believe she ought to be allowed to think\nshe can pull the wool over our eyes. The sooner she's sent to the\nschool for incorrigible girls down at Sauk Centre, the better for all\nand----Won't you just have a cup of coffee, Carol dearie, I'm sure you\nwon't mind old Aunty Bogart calling you by your first name when you\nthink how long I've known Will, and I was such a friend of his dear\nlovely mother when she lived here and--was that fur cap expensive? But----Don't you think it's awful, the way folks talk in this town?\" Mrs. Bogart hitched her chair nearer. Her large face, with its\ndisturbing collection of moles and lone black hairs, wrinkled\ncunningly. She showed her decayed teeth in a reproving smile, and in the\nconfidential voice of one who scents stale bedroom scandal she breathed:\n\n\"I just don't see how folks can talk and act like they do. You don't\nknow the things that go on under cover. This town--why it's only the\nreligious training I've given Cy that's kept him so innocent of--things. Just the other day----I never pay no attention to stories, but I heard\nit mighty good and straight that Harry Haydock is carrying on with a\ngirl that clerks in a store down in Minneapolis, and poor Juanita\nnot knowing anything about it--though maybe it's the judgment of\nGod, because before she married Harry she acted up with more than one\nboy----Well, I don't like to say it, and maybe I ain't up-to-date, like\nCy says, but I always believed a lady shouldn't even give names to all\nsorts of dreadful things, but just the same I know there was at least\none case where Juanita and a boy--well, they were just dreadful. And--and----Then there's that Ole Jenson the grocer, that thinks he's so\nplaguey smart, and I know he made up to a farmer's wife and----And this\nawful man Bjornstam that does chores, and Nat Hicks and----\"\n\nThere was, it seemed, no person in town who was not living a life of\nshame except Mrs. Bogart, and naturally she resented it. She knew. She had always happened to be there. Once, she whispered, she\nwas going by when an indiscreet window-shade had been left up a couple\nof inches. Once she had noticed a man and woman holding hands, and right\nat a Methodist sociable! \"Another thing----Heaven knows I never want to start trouble, but I\ncan't help what I see from my back steps, and I notice your hired girl\nBea carrying on with the grocery boys and all----\"\n\n\"Mrs. Bogart! I'd trust Bea as I would myself!\" \"Oh, dearie, you don't understand me! I'm sure she's a good girl. I mean\nshe's green, and I hope that none of these horrid young men that there\nare around town will get her into trouble! It's their parents' fault,\nletting them run wild and hear evil things. If I had my way there\nwouldn't be none of them, not boys nor girls neither, allowed to know\nanything about--about things till they was married. It's terrible the\nbald way that some folks talk. It just shows and gives away what awful\nthoughts they got inside them, and there's nothing can cure them except\ncoming right to God and kneeling down like I do at prayer-meeting every\nWednesday evening, and saying, 'O God, I would be a miserable sinner\nexcept for thy grace.' \"I'd make every last one of these brats go to Sunday School and learn\nto think about nice things 'stead of about cigarettes and goings-on--and\nthese dances they have at the lodges are the worst thing that ever\nhappened to this town, lot of young men squeezing girls and finding\nout----Oh, it's dreadful. I've told the mayor he ought to put a stop\nto them and----There was one boy in this town, I don't want to be\nsuspicious or uncharitable but----\"\n\nIt was half an hour before Carol escaped. She stopped on her own porch and thought viciously:\n\n\"If that woman is on the side of the angels, then I have no choice; I\nmust be on the side of the devil. But--isn't she like me? She too wants\nto 'reform the town'! She too criticizes everybody! She too thinks the\nmen are vulgar and limited! AM I LIKE HER? This is ghastly!\" That evening she did not merely consent to play cribbage with Kennicott;\nshe urged him to play; and she worked up a hectic interest in land-deals\nand Sam Clark. VIII\n\n\nIn courtship days Kennicott had shown her a photograph of Nels\nErdstrom's baby and log cabin, but she had never seen the Erdstroms. They had become merely \"patients of the doctor.\" Kennicott telephoned\nher on a mid-December afternoon, \"Want to throw your coat on and drive\nout to Erdstrom's with me? Fairly warm. Nels got the jaundice.\" \"Oh yes!\" She hastened to put on woolen stockings, high boots, sweater,\nmuffler, cap, mittens. The snow was too thick and the ruts frozen too hard for the motor. They\ndrove out in a clumsy high carriage. Tucked over them was a blue woolen\ncover, prickly to her wrists, and outside of it a buffalo robe, humble\nand moth-eaten now, used ever since the bison herds had streaked the\nprairie a few miles to the west. The scattered houses between which they passed in town were small and\ndesolate in contrast to the expanse of huge snowy yards and wide\nstreet.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> They crossed the railroad tracks, and instantly were in the farm\ncountry. The big piebald horses snorted clouds of steam, and started to\ntrot. The carriage squeaked in rhythm. Kennicott drove with clucks of\n\"There boy, take it easy!\" He was thinking. He paid no attention to\nCarol. Yet it was he who commented, \"Pretty nice, over there,\" as they\napproached an oak-grove where shifty winter sunlight quivered in the\nhollow between two snow-drifts. They drove from the natural prairie to a cleared district which twenty\nyears ago had been forest. The country seemed to stretch unchanging to\nthe North Pole: low hill, brush-scraggly bottom, reedy creek, muskrat\nmound, fields with frozen brown clods thrust up through the snow. Her ears and nose were pinched; her breath frosted her collar; her\nfingers ached. \"Getting colder,\" she said. \"Yup.\" That was all their conversation for three miles. Yet she was happy. They reached Nels Erdstrom's at four, and with a throb she recognized\nthe courageous venture which had lured her to Gopher Prairie: the\ncleared fields, furrows among stumps, a log cabin chinked with mud and\nroofed with dry hay. But Nels had prospered. He used the log cabin as a\nbarn; and a new house reared up, a proud, unwise, Gopher Prairie\nhouse, the more naked and ungraceful in its glossy white paint and pink\ntrimmings. Every tree had been cut down. The house was so unsheltered,\nso battered by the wind, so bleakly thrust out into the harsh clearing,\nthat Carol shivered. But they were welcomed warmly enough in the\nkitchen, with its crisp new plaster, its black and nickel range, its\ncream separator in a corner. Mrs. Erdstrom begged her to sit in the parlor, where there was a\nphonograph and an oak and leather davenport, the prairie farmer's\nproofs of social progress, but she dropped down by the kitchen stove and\ninsisted, \"Please don't mind me.\" When Mrs. Erdstrom had followed the\ndoctor out of the room Carol glanced in a friendly way at the grained\npine cupboard, the framed Lutheran Konfirmations Attest, the traces\nof fried eggs and sausages on the dining table against the wall, and a\njewel among calendars, presenting not only a lithographic young woman\nwith cherry lips, and a Swedish advertisement of Axel Egge's grocery,\nbut also a thermometer and a match-holder. She saw that a boy of four or five was staring at her from the hall,\na boy in gingham shirt and faded corduroy trousers, but large-eyed,\nfirm-mouthed, wide-browed. He vanished, then peeped in again, biting his\nknuckles, turning his shoulder toward her in shyness. Didn't she remember--what was it?--Kennicott sitting beside her at Fort\nSnelling, urging, \"See how scared that baby is. Needs some woman like\nyou.\" Magic had fluttered about her then--magic of sunset and cool air and the\ncuriosity of lovers. She held out her hands as much to that sanctity as\nto the boy. He edged into the room, doubtfully sucking his thumb. \"Hello,\" she said. \"What's your name?\" \"Hee, hee, hee!\" \"You're quite right. I agree with you. Silly people like me always ask\nchildren their names.\" \"Hee, hee, hee!\" \"Come here and I'll tell you the story of--well, I don't know what it\nwill be about, but it will have a slim heroine and a Prince Charming.\" He stood stoically while she spun nonsense. His giggling ceased. She was\nwinning him. Then the telephone bell--two long rings, one short. Mrs. Erdstrom galloped into the room, shrieked into the transmitter,\n\"Vell? Yes, yes, dis is Erdstrom's place! Heh? Oh, you vant de doctor?\" Kennicott appeared, growled into the telephone:\n\n\"Well, what do you want? Oh, hello Dave; what do you want? Which\nMorgenroth's? Adolph's? All right. Amputation? Yuh, I see. Say, Dave,\nget Gus to harness up and take my surgical kit down there--and have him\ntake some chloroform. I'll go straight down from here. May not get\nhome tonight. You can get me at Adolph's. Huh? No, Carrie can give the\nanesthetic, I guess. G'-by. Huh? No; tell me about that tomorrow--too\ndamn many people always listening in on this farmers' line.\" He turned to Carol. \"Adolph Morgenroth, farmer ten miles southwest of\ntown, got his arm crushed-fixing his cow-shed and a post caved in on\nhim--smashed him up pretty bad--may have to amputate, Dave Dyer says. Afraid we'll have to go right from here. Darn sorry to drag you clear\ndown there with me----\"\n\n\"Please do. Don't mind me a bit.\" \"Think you could give the anesthetic? Usually have my driver do it.\" \"If you'll tell me how.\" \"All right. Say, did you hear me putting one over on these goats that\nare always rubbering in on party-wires? I hope they heard me! Well. . . . Now, Bessie, don't you worry about Nels. He's getting along all right. Tomorrow you or one of the neighbors drive in and get this prescription\nfilled at Dyer's. Give him a teaspoonful every four hours. Good-by. Hel-lo! Here's the little fellow! My Lord, Bessie, it ain't possible\nthis is the fellow that used to be so sickly? Why, say, he's a great big\nstrapping Svenska now--going to be bigger 'n his daddy!\" Kennicott's bluffness made the child squirm with a delight which Carol\ncould not evoke. It was a humble wife who followed the busy doctor out\nto the carriage, and her ambition was not to play Rachmaninoff better,\nnor to build town halls, but to chuckle at babies. The sunset was merely a flush of rose on a dome of silver, with oak\ntwigs and thin poplar branches against it, but a silo on the horizon\nchanged from a red tank to a tower of violet misted over with gray. The\npurple road vanished, and without lights, in the darkness of a world\ndestroyed, they swayed on--toward nothing. It was a bumpy cold way to the Morgenroth farm, and she was asleep when\nthey arrived. Here was no glaring new house with a proud phonograph, but a low\nwhitewashed kitchen smelling of cream and cabbage. Adolph Morgenroth was\nlying on a couch in the rarely used dining-room. His heavy work-scarred\nwife was shaking her hands in anxiety. Carol felt that Kennicott would do something magnificent and startling. But he was casual. He greeted the man, \"Well, well, Adolph, have to fix\nyou up, eh?\" Quietly, to the wife, \"Hat die drug store my schwartze bag\nhier geschickt? So--schon. Wie viel Uhr ist 's? Sieben? Nun, lassen uns\nein wenig supper zuerst haben. Got any of that good beer left--giebt 's\nnoch Bier?\" He had supped in four minutes. His coat off, his sleeves rolled up, he\nwas scrubbing his hands in a tin basin in the sink, using the bar of\nyellow kitchen soap. Carol had not dared to look into the farther room while she labored over\nthe supper of beer, rye bread, moist cornbeef and cabbage, set on the\nkitchen table. The man in there was groaning. In her one glance she\nhad seen that his blue flannel shirt was open at a corded tobacco-brown\nneck, the hollows of which were sprinkled with thin black and gray\nhairs. He was covered with a sheet, like a corpse, and outside the sheet\nwas his right arm, wrapped in towels stained with blood. But Kennicott strode into the other room gaily, and she followed him. With surprising delicacy in his large fingers he unwrapped the towels\nand revealed an arm which, below the elbow, was a mass of blood and raw\nflesh. The man bellowed. The room grew thick about her; she was very\nseasick; she fled to a chair in the kitchen. Through the haze of nausea\nshe heard Kennicott grumbling, \"Afraid it will have to come off, Adolph. What did you do? Fall on a reaper blade? We'll fix it right up. Carrie! CAROL!\" She couldn't--she couldn't get up.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Then she was up, her knees like\nwater, her stomach revolving a thousand times a second, her eyes filmed,\nher ears full of roaring. She couldn't reach the dining-room. She was\ngoing to faint. Then she was in the dining-room, leaning against the\nwall, trying to smile, flushing hot and cold along her chest and sides,\nwhile Kennicott mumbled, \"Say, help Mrs. Morgenroth and me carry him\nin on the kitchen table. No, first go out and shove those two tables\ntogether, and put a blanket on them and a clean sheet.\" It was salvation to push the heavy tables, to scrub them, to be exact in\nplacing the sheet. Her head cleared; she was able to look calmly in at\nher husband and the farmwife while they undressed the wailing man, got\nhim into a clean nightgown, and washed his arm. Kennicott came to lay\nout his instruments. She realized that, with no hospital facilities, yet\nwith no worry about it, her husband--HER HUSBAND--was going to perform\na surgical operation, that miraculous boldness of which one read in\nstories about famous surgeons. She helped them to move Adolph into the kitchen. The man was in such a\nfunk that he would not use his legs. He was heavy, and smelled of sweat\nand the stable. But she put her arm about his waist, her sleek head by\nhis chest; she tugged at him; she clicked her tongue in imitation of\nKennicott's cheerful noises. When Adolph was on the table Kennicott laid a hemispheric steel and\ncotton frame on his face; suggested to Carol, \"Now you sit here at his\nhead and keep the ether dripping--about this fast, see? I'll watch\nhis breathing. Look who's here! Real anesthetist! Ochsner hasn't got a\nbetter one! Class, eh? . . . Now, now, Adolph, take it easy. This won't\nhurt you a bit. Put you all nice and asleep and it won't hurt a bit. Schweig' mal! Bald schlaft man grat wie ein Kind. So! So! Bald geht's\nbesser!\" As she let the ether drip, nervously trying to keep the rhythm that\nKennicott had indicated, Carol stared at her husband with the abandon of\nhero-worship. He shook his head. \"Bad light--bad light. Here, Mrs. Morgenroth, you\nstand right here and hold this lamp. Hier, und dieses--dieses lamp\nhalten--so!\" By that streaky glimmer he worked, swiftly, at ease. The room was still. Carol tried to look at him, yet not look at the seeping blood, the\ncrimson slash, the vicious scalpel. The ether fumes were sweet, choking. Her head seemed to be floating away from her body. Her arm was feeble. It was not the blood but the grating of the surgical saw on the living\nbone that broke her, and she knew that she had been fighting off nausea,\nthat she was beaten. She was lost in dizziness. She heard Kennicott's\nvoice--\n\n\"Sick? Trot outdoors couple minutes. Adolph will stay under now.\" She was fumbling at a door-knob which whirled in insulting circles;\nshe was on the stoop, gasping, forcing air into her chest, her head\nclearing. As she returned she caught the scene as a whole: the cavernous\nkitchen, two milk-cans a leaden patch by the wall, hams dangling from a\nbeam, bats of light at the stove door, and in the center, illuminated\nby a small glass lamp held by a frightened stout woman, Dr. Kennicott\nbending over a body which was humped under a sheet--the surgeon, his\nbare arms daubed with blood, his hands, in pale-yellow rubber gloves,\nloosening the tourniquet, his face without emotion save when he threw\nup his head and clucked at the farmwife, \"Hold that light steady just a\nsecond more--noch blos esn wenig.\" \"He speaks a vulgar, common, incorrect German of life and death and\nbirth and the soil. I read the French and German of sentimental\nlovers and Christmas garlands. And I thought that it was I who had the\nculture!\" she worshiped as she returned to her place. After a time he snapped, \"That's enough. Don't give him any more ether.\" He was concentrated on tying an artery. His gruffness seemed heroic to\nher. As he shaped the flap of flesh she murmured, \"Oh, you ARE wonderful!\" He was surprised. \"Why, this is a cinch. Now if it had been like last\nweek----Get me some more water. Now last week I had a case with an ooze\nin the peritoneal cavity, and by golly if it wasn't a stomach ulcer that\nI hadn't suspected and----There. Say, I certainly am sleepy. Let's turn\nin here. Too late to drive home. And tastes to me like a storm coming.\" IX\n\n\nThey slept on a feather bed with their fur coats over them; in the\nmorning they broke ice in the pitcher--the vast flowered and gilt\npitcher. Kennicott's storm had not come. When they set out it was hazy and\ngrowing warmer. After a mile she saw that he was studying a dark cloud\nin the north. He urged the horses to the run. But she forgot his unusual\nhaste in wonder at the tragic landscape. The pale snow, the prickles of\nold stubble, and the clumps of ragged brush faded into a gray obscurity. Under the hillocks were cold shadows. The willows about a farmhouse were\nagitated by the rising wind, and the patches of bare wood where the bark\nhad peeled away were white as the flesh of a leper. The snowy slews were\nof a harsh flatness. The whole land was cruel, and a climbing cloud of\nslate-edged blackness dominated the sky. \"Guess we're about in for a blizzard,\" speculated Kennicott \"We can make\nBen McGonegal's, anyway.\" \"Blizzard? Really? Why----But still we used to think they were fun when\nI was a girl. Daddy had to stay home from court, and we'd stand at the\nwindow and watch the snow.\" \"Not much fun on the prairie. Get lost. Freeze to death. Take no\nchances.\" He chirruped at the horses. They were flying now, the carriage\nrocking on the hard ruts. The whole air suddenly crystallized into large damp flakes. The horses\nand the buffalo robe were covered with snow; her face was wet; the\nthin butt of the whip held a white ridge. The air became colder. The\nsnowflakes were harder; they shot in level lines, clawing at her face. She could not see a hundred feet ahead. Kennicott was stern. He bent forward, the reins firm in his coonskin\ngauntlets. She was certain that he would get through. He always got\nthrough things. Save for his presence, the world and all normal living disappeared. They\nwere lost in the boiling snow. He leaned close to bawl, \"Letting the\nhorses have their heads. They'll get us home.\" With a terrifying bump they were off the road, slanting with two wheels\nin the ditch, but instantly they were jerked back as the horses fled\non. She gasped. She tried to, and did not, feel brave as she pulled the\nwoolen robe up about her chin. They were passing something like a dark wall on the right. \"I know that\nbarn!\" he yelped. He pulled at the reins. Peeping from the covers she\nsaw his teeth pinch his lower lip, saw him scowl as he slackened and\nsawed and jerked sharply again at the racing horses. They stopped. \"Farmhouse there. Put robe around you and come on,\" he cried. It was like diving into icy water to climb out of the carriage, but\non the ground she smiled at him, her face little and childish and pink\nabove the buffalo robe over her shoulders. In a swirl of flakes which\nscratched at their eyes like a maniac darkness, he unbuckled the\nharness. He turned and plodded back, a ponderous furry figure, holding\nthe horses' bridles, Carol's hand dragging at his sleeve. They came to the cloudy bulk of a barn whose outer wall was directly\nupon the road. Feeling along it, he found a gate, led them into a yard,\ninto the barn. The interior was warm. It stunned them with its languid\nquiet. He carefully drove the horses into stalls. Her toes were coals of pain. \"Let's run for the house,\" she said. \"Can't. Not yet. Might never find it. Might get lost ten feet away from\nit.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Sit over in this stall, near the horses. We'll rush for the house\nwhen the blizzard lifts.\" \"I'm so stiff! I can't walk!\" He carried her into the stall, stripped off her overshoes and boots,\nstopping to blow on his purple fingers as he fumbled at her laces. He rubbed her feet, and covered her with the buffalo robe and\nhorse-blankets from the pile on the feed-box. She was drowsy, hemmed in\nby the storm. She sighed:\n\n\"You're so strong and yet so skilful and not afraid of blood or storm\nor----\"\n\n\"Used to it. Only thing that's bothered me was the chance the ether\nfumes might explode, last night.\" \"I don't understand.\" \"Why, Dave, the darn fool, sent me ether, instead of chloroform like I\ntold him, and you know ether fumes are mighty inflammable, especially\nwith that lamp right by the table. But I had to operate, of\ncourse--wound chuck-full of barnyard filth that way.\" \"You knew all the time that----Both you and I might have been blown up? You knew it while you were operating?\" \"Sure. Didn't you? Why, what's the matter?\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-13", "answer": "Carol, Will, December, German farmer, sick wife, hero admiration, Kennicotts' yard, wounded leg, hot water, blankets, Guy Pollock, store encounter, sweets, office, redecorate waiting room, Mrs. Bogart, Bea, grocery delivery people, house call, country, arm amputation, kitchen table, anesthetic, fainting, snowstorm, barn shelter, flammable ether, chloroform, marriage, shifting affections, rural medicine, community gossip, maid-employer relationship"}]