Mind will be the
universal medicine; will, not simply the cure, but the preventive,
of disease."
"And of death?" the doctor asked quietly. "Will man be able to think
himself into an eternity on earth?"
Valentine looked at him very strangely.
"You ask that question seriously?" he said.
"I ask seriously whether you think so."
It was evident that the doctor meant to make the question above all
things a personal one. This time Valentine accepted that condition.
He sat for a moment twisting his champagne-glass about in his long
fingers, and glancing rapidly from the doctor to Cuckoo, who heard this
conversation without very well understanding it. Indeed, she sat beneath
her bell of violets in much confusion, _distraite_ in her desire to
command intellectual faculties which she did not possess. Valentine
watched her narrowly, though he seemed unattentive to her. Perhaps
he thought of his delivery of his gospel to her, and wondered if she
recalled it at this moment; or perhaps once more he began to rejoice
in her mental distress and alienation.
"Wade," he said "the champagne to Mr. Addison. Well, doctor, suppose I
acknowledged that I did so--mind, I don't acknowledge it!--you might, on
your side, think something too--that I am mad, for instance.
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