He wanted to read passages from those letters, he wanted to talk about
their writers, and to make me feel their worth and charm as he did. He
still dreamed of going back to England the next summer, but that was not
to be. One day he received me not less gayly than usual, but with a
certain excitement, and began to tell me about an odd experience he had
had, not at all painful, but which had very much mystified him. He had
since seen the doctor, and the doctor had assured him that there was
nothing alarming in what had happened, and in recalling this assurance,
he began to look at the humorous aspects of the case, and to make some
jokes about it. He wished to talk of it, as men do of their maladies,
and very fully, and I gave him such proof of my interest as even inviting
him to talk of it would convey. In spite of the doctor's assurance, and
his joyful acceptance of it, I doubt if at the bottom of his heart there
was not the stir of an uneasy misgiving; but he had not for a long time
shown himself so cheerful.
It was the beginning of the end. He recovered and relapsed, and
recovered again; but never for long.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65