with apparent apathy, as if wondering what all this talk could mean and what it had to do with him. When I had finished he said nothing, but, rising quietly from his chair, walked over to one side of the room and looked at a picture hanging on the wall. He looked at it closely and then, stepping back and with his head on one side, viewed it at a few feet distant. Finally he examined it through his hand screwed up like a tube. While so doing he said, "That is a nice picture. I rather like it. Who is the artist? Ah! I see his name in the corner. I like the way in which he has treated the clouds, don't you? The foreground too, with those sheep, is very cleverly managed." Then turning suddenly to me he burst out, "What were you talking about just now? You said something. What was it? For God's sake say that it is not true! It is not true! It cannot be true!"
