Chapter Twenty-Nine
The corridors of the institute had low ceilings, the windows heavy bars. The major treatment room, an oval space with high windows, was located at the end of a corridor, which, Denis thought, always had a gloomy air. Was it due to the peeling lead-grey paint? Or could he, behind the echo of his footsteps, sense the crying and moaning of patients in days gone by? In any case, the corridor gave him the chills.
The treatment room on the other hand was an oasis of light with gently curved, blue-painted walls. It conveyed an aura of potential salvation. Nevertheless, the round table and three chairs in the middle were bolted onto the floor. The Mole sat in the chair to the right, his hands folded on the table before him.
Denis nodded at the nurse who left the room but wou
