There was a short silence, broken by a sudden crackling like dry wood burning. Constance looked up. Doctor Murchison was gnawing the end of his pencil, and the sharp tiny c***k, as it split in half lengthwise, sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He was not looking at Constance, but above her head, seemingly at a far corner of the ceiling, while his strong white teeth rent the wood. Constance moved in her chair. Doctor Murchison laid down the remains of the pencil and looked across at her.
“The men patients are rather more interesting,” he said, “and there is one case, at least, which is dangerous. The men I propose for the moment to keep altogether under my own personal control. I hope you will not misunderstand.”
He seemed nervous, and looked at her as though anxious to see exac
