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Updated: May 25, 2025
"A most powerful recommendation!" murmured Brayle "The best in the world! What do YOU think of him?" he asked, turning suddenly to me. "I have no opinion," I answered, quietly. How could I say otherwise? How could I tell such a man as he was, of one who had entered my life as insistently as a flash of light, illumining all that had hitherto been dark! At that moment Catherine caught my hand.
"I do not entirely understand you" answered Santoris, coldly "But if you mean that I am not a lover of women in the plural you are right." "Perhaps of the one woman the one rare pearl in the deep sea" hinted Dr. Brayle, unabashed. "Come, you are getting too personal, Brayle," interrupted Mr. Harland, quickly, and with asperity "Santoris, your health!"
There is nothing perhaps more embarrassing than to hear a woman of mature years giving herself away by the childish vapidness of her talk, and exhibiting not only a lack of mental poise, but also utter tactlessness. However, Catherine rattled on, and Dr. Brayle rattled with her, Mr.
Brayle was a dark, slim, clean-shaven man of middle age with expressionless brown eyes and sleek black hair which was carefully brushed and parted down the middle, he was quiet and self-contained in manner, and yet I thought I could see that he was fully alive to the advantages of his position as travelling medical adviser to an American millionaire.
How can I do otherwise, seeing that it is the Key to the Soul of Nature?" "That's too deep for me!" said Dr. Brayle, pouring himself out a glass of whisky and mixing it with soda-water "If it's a riddle I give it up!" Santoris was silent. There was a moment's pause. Then Catherine leaned forward across the table, looking at him with tired, questioning eyes. "Could you not explain?" she murmured.
And with these words, which broke off in a kind of inarticulate cry, she sank downward in a swoon, Dr. Brayle managing to save her from falling quite to the ground. Everything was at once in confusion, and while the servants were busy hurrying to and fro for cold water, smelling salts and other reviving cordials, and Catherine was being laid on the sofa and attended to by Dr.
It is, of course, a 'craze' but craze or not, he is absolutely immovable on one point which he calls the great Fact of Life, that there is and can be no Death, that Life is eternal and therefore in all its forms indestructible." "Does he consider himself immune from the common lot of mortals?" asked Dr. Brayle, with a touch of derision. "He denies 'the common lot' altogether" replied Mr.
Harland "And I was scarcely surprised that he should 'think out' that antique piece of jewellery from your pocket last night. He actually told me it belonged to you ages ago, when you were quite another and more important person!" Dr. Brayle laughed loudly, almost boisterously. "What a fictionist the man must be!" he exclaimed. "Why doesn't he write a novel? Mr.
But I confess I should like to have tested his medical skill he assured me positively that he could cure me of my illness in three months." "Why do you not let him try?" suggested Brayle, with an air of forced lightness "He will be a man of miracles if he can cure what the whole medical profession knows to be incurable. But I'm quite willing to retire in his favour, if you wish it." Mr.
Let me do justice to a brave man's memory; in all these needless exposures of life there was no visible bravado nor subsequent narration. In the few instances when some of us had ventured to remonstrate, Brayle had smiled pleasantly and made some light reply, which, however, had not encouraged a further pursuit of the subject.
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