It was with a feeling of real pleasure that I saw him enter at last one
Saturday evening early in April. I had been feeling tired and depressed,
and only by an effort of will had I kept myself at my work. I was struck
at the change that a few weeks had wrought in the doctor's appearance. His
hair had grown unusually long, quite noticeably so, his tall figure was
somewhat bent, and there was an unusual appearance about his dress. He had
not yet cast aside the garb of civilisation, but his trousers evinced a
tendency to shrink, and he appeared to contemplate affecting low necks in
the matter of shirts. His feet were shod in sandals of a peculiar make,
and there was a feverish look in his eyes. As he came towards me his
characteristic kindly smile lit up his drawn features, and he grasped my
hand with friendly warmth. I was delighted to see him, but somewhat
shocked at the alteration in his looks. In answer to my inquiries as to
his prolonged absence, he explained that he had been very busy for one
thing, and that he had also been much preoccupied with his own thoughts on
questions of principle and propaganda.
"You know, Isabel," he said, "my habit of silence when confronted by
mental problems. I think I must belong to the race of ruminating animals,
and it is only by quietly chewing the cud of my ideas that I can digest
and assimilate them. It used to be just the same in my student days, and
doubtless the habit will stick to me through life.
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