Wilson, betraying none of the excitement that he really
felt:
"You spoke of cruelty. You had to endure physical cruelty?"
"Worse, to see it endured by others, dumb, helpless creatures, by my own
dog."
A great shudder ran through her.
"I can't talk of it," she said. "But it made me what I am. Can you do
anything for me? Why do you look at me like that?"
For, at her word about the dog, the doctor had fallen into a tense
reverie, looking steadily upon her, yet as one who sees little or
nothing. He roused himself quickly.
"Tell me something of the symptoms of your mental malady," he said.
"These fancies that distress you, of what nature are they?"
She told him. Many of them were symptoms well known to all those who have
suffered acutely after some great shock, imagined sounds, movements, and
so forth. The doctor listened. He had heard such a story many times
before.
"I, _I_ am full of these ghastly, these degrading fancies," Mrs. Wilson
cried, with a sort of large indignation against herself, and yet an
uncertain terror. "Is it not--?"
She suddenly stopped speaking.
"There's some one at your door," she said, after a second or two of
apparent attention to some sound without.
"I dare say.
Pages:
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564