Out of the house, I had Betteredge's word for it that he was unpopular
everywhere. "What a life!" I thought to myself, as we descended the
doctor's doorsteps.
Having already referred to Mr. Candy's illness on his side, Ezra
Jennings now appeared determined to leave it to me to resume the
subject. His silence said significantly, "It's your turn now." I, too,
had my reasons for referring to the doctor's illness: and I readily
accepted the responsibility of speaking first.
"Judging by the change I see in him," I began, "Mr. Candy's illness must
have been far more serious that I had supposed?"
"It is almost a miracle," said Ezra Jennings, "that he lived through
it."
"Is his memory never any better than I have found it to-day? He has been
trying to speak to me----"
"Of something which happened before he was taken ill?" asked the
assistant, observing that I hesitated.
"Yes."
"His memory of events, at that past time, is hopelessly enfeebled," said
Ezra Jennings. "It is almost to be deplored, poor fellow, that even
the wreck of it remains. While he remembers dimly plans that he
formed--things, here and there, that he had to say or do before his
illness--he is perfectly incapable of recalling what the plans were, or
what the thing was that he had to say or do.
Pages:
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707