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"With any form of nerve disease."

"Do you really think I am suffering from nerve disease? From the vapours?" I asked scornfully, thinking for the thousand and first time what a fool the man was.

"You don't occupy yourself?"

"I'm one of the busiest women on God's earth."

"I've never seen you doing anything, except sitting at her writing-table with two bone-dry pens set out and some blank paper. And you object to be questioned about your illness, or examined."

"I hate scientific doctoring. And then you have not inspired me with confidence, you are obsessed with one idea."

"I can't help that. From the first you've reminded me of Margaret."

"Oh! damn Margaret Capel, and your infatuation for her! I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel just now. I can't escape from her, the whole place is full of her. And yet she hasn't written a thing that will live. I sent to the London Library soon after I came and got all her books. I waded through the lot. Just epigram and paradox, a weak Bernard Shaw in petticoats."

"I never read a word she wrote," he answered indifferently. "It was the woman herself..."

"I am sure. Well, good-bye! I can't talk any more tonight, I'm tired. Don't send Dr. Lansdowne. If I want any one I'll let you know."