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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"Flames"

"
"Darkness and light. Yes, it's true. How rotten of me," Julian exclaimed,
like a schoolboy. "I'm like a squirrel in a cage, going round and round.
That's just it. Valentine and Marr are in that cursed circle of our
sittings, and so I insanely connect them with one another. I actually
began to think to-night that Marr died, poor fellow, because--well--"
"Yes."
"Oh, it's too ridiculous, that his death had something to do with our
last sitting. Supposing, as you say, he had a hypnotic power of any kind.
Could--could its exercise cause injury to his health?"
But the doctor ignored the question in his quiet and yet very complete
and self-possessed manner.
"Marr and Cresswell never met," he said. "It is folly to connect them
together. It is, as you said," and he laughed, "rotten of you. Go away
to-morrow."
"I will, you autocratic doctor. What fee do I owe you?"
"Your friendship, my boy."
Dr. Levillier sat lower in his chair, and they smoked in silence, both
of them revelling in the warm peace and the ease of this night-hour.
Since he had come into the Harley Street house Julian had been much
happier. His perturbation had gradually evaporated until now scarcely
a vestige of it remained. The little doctor's talk, above all the sight
of his calm, thoughtful face and the aspect of his calm, satisfied room,
gave the _coup de gr?ce_ to the uneasiness of a spurious and ill-omened
excitement.


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