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Updated: June 7, 2025
Pendegrast; but it was he, with those round eyes like small blue-faience saucers, and that slight, wiry figure.
Pendegrast pushed back his chair and led the way across the quadrangle, in which a number of persons were taking coffee at small tables set here and there under oleander-trees in green-painted tubs. The smoking-room was unoccupied. Lynde stood a moment undetermined in the centre of the apartment, and then he laid his hand on the doctor's shoulder. "You don't remember me?"
Finding his way back after an hour or so to the other bank of the Seine, he seated himself on one of those little black iron chairs which seem to have let themselves down like spiders from the lime-trees in the Champs Elysees, and remained for a long time in a deep study. The meeting with Dr. Pendegrast had been so severe a shock to Lynde that he could not straightway recover his mental balance.
Lynde felt the cold creeping about his heart. "Doctor," he said desperately, "don't tell me!" "Mr. Lynde," said Dr. Pendegrast, walking up to the bedside and speaking very slowly, as if he were doubtful of his own words and found it difficult to articulate them, "a change has taken place, but it is a change for the better. I believe that Ruth will live." "She will live!"
Pendegrast, the superintendent of this asylum." "This is an asylum!" "An asylum for the insane," returned Dr. Pendegrast. "I do not know how to express my regret at what has occurred. I can only account for the unfortunate affair, and throw myself upon your generosity. Will you allow me to explain?" Lynde passed his hand over his forehead in a bewildered way.
"Me," continued Dr. Pendegrast, smiling, "they confined in the padded chamber." Lynde looked at him blankly. "A chamber with walls thickly cushioned, to prevent violent patients from inflicting injury on themselves," explained the doctor. "I, you see, was considered a very bad case indeed!
Lynde has just come from Chamouni," said Mr. Denham, answering the doctor's mute interrogation. "It seems that Ruth is ill." Dr. Pendegrast glanced at Lynde and turned to Mr. Denham again. "I imagine it is only a cold," Mr. Denham continued. "She was caught in a rain-storm on the mountain and got very wet. Mrs. Denham is of course worried about her, and Mr.
I cannot explain it to you now and here; but you shall know some day." Dr. Pendegrast smiled. "I didn't recollect you at first, Mr. Lynde; my memory for names and faces is shockingly derelict, but I have retained most of my other faculties in tolerably good order. I have been unreserved with you because I more than suspect" The doctor's sentence was cut short by Mr.
Pendegrast if he had not already been very well disposed towards the young fellow, several of whose New York friends, as it transpired, were old acquaintances of the doctor's Dr. Dillon and his family, and the Delaneys. The conversation between Lynde and Dr.
"No; it is my meeting with you that he turned my discarded doubt into a certainty." "Then, I beg of you," said Dr. Pendegrast throwing a glance across the quadrangle, "not to breathe a syllable of this; do not even think of it. It has been kept from every one from even the most intimate friends of the family; Ruth herself is not aware of her temporary derangement." "Miss Denham does not know it?"
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