''Fancies? God help me, it''s the plainest truth!''
''Fancies, Mrs Rivers. If you might only hear yourself! Terrible plots? Laughing villains? Stolen fortunes and girls made out to be mad? The stuff of lurid fiction! We have a name for your disease. We call it a hyper-aesthetic one. You have been encouraged to overindulge yourself in literature; and have inflamed your organs of fancy.''
''Inflamed?'' I said. ''Over-indulge? Literature?''
''You have read too much.''
I looked at him and could not speak.
''God help me,'' I said at last, as he turned away, ''if I can read two words in a row! As for writing—give me a pencil, and I''ll put you
down my name; and that''s as much as I should ever be able to put, though you sit me down and make me try it for a year!''
He had begun to walk to the door of the room, with Dr Graves close behind him. My voice was broken, for Nurse Spiller had caught hold of me to keep me from following after. ''How dare you speak,'' she said, ''to the doctors'' backs! Don''t pull from me! I should say you''re wild enough to be put back in the pads. Dr Christie?''
But Dr Christie had heard my words and had turned at the door and was looking at me in a new sort of way, his hand at his beard. He glanced at Dr Graves. He said quietly,