It was only in embryo as yet, a shadow hesitating in the
background of his mind. He shrank from holding it. He shuddered at its
coming. Yet, if it were right, it might explain everything, might make
what was otherwise incredible clear and comprehensible.
Was this vile change in his friend caused by a radical distortion of
mind? Was Valentine a madman?
Lunacy turns temperaments upside down, transforms the lamb into the
tiger, the saint into the murderer.
Was Valentine then mad? and was the monstrous distortion of his brain
playing upon the life of Julian, who, like the rest of the world,
believed him sane?
The thought came to the doctor, and once it had been born it was often
near to him. Yet he would not encourage it unless he could rest it upon
facts. That a man should change was not a proof of his madness, however
unaccountable the change might seem. The doctor watched Valentine, and
was compelled to admit to himself that in every way Valentine seemed
perfectly sane. His cynicism, his love of ordinary life, his toleration
of common and wretched people, might seem amazing to one who had known
him well years ago, but there were many perfectly sane men of the same
habits and opinions, of the same modes of speech and of action.
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