I told him the truth. It was so difficult to put precisely. The door leaned inward. Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. The doctor will be here to see you in five minutes. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. " "For an old bachelor?" "A human old bachelor. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so very sick.
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