It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. Twenty guineas, mind. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. He lifted her from the floor. "He who stands on the verge of the grave, as I do, should never be unprepared. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct. ‘It will suit me very well that you go away, because you are a person without sense and I do not wish to talk to you. She chuckled.
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