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Chapter 14

           Thecarpentryshop,fullofsunlight,exudedthesweetnessofsawdust,ofalostageofwood;alwayshalfadozenmenwerethere,hammering,planing,buzzingsilentmen,wholiftedsolemneyesfromtheirworkashepassedthrough.Himselfagoodcarpenter,hediscussedwiththemtheefficiencyofsometoolsforamomentinaquiet,personal,interestedvoice.Adjoiningwasthebook-bindery,adaptedtothemostmobileofpatientswhowerenotalways,however,thosewhohadthegreatestchanceforrecovery.Thelastchamberwasdevotedtobeadwork,weavingandworkinbrass.Thefacesofthepatientshereworetheexpressionofonewhohadjustsighedprofoundly,dismissingsomethinginsolublebuttheirsighsonlymarkedthebeginningofanotherceaselessroundofratiocination,notinalineaswithnormalpeoplebutinthesamecircle.Round,round,andround.Aroundforever.Butthebrightcolorsofthestuffstheyworkedwithgavestrangersamomentaryillusionthatallwaswell,asinakindergarten.ThesepatientsbrightenedasDoctorDivercamein.MostofthemlikedhimbetterthantheylikedDoctorGregorovius.Thosewhohadoncelivedinthegreatworldinvariablylikedhimbetter.Therewereafewwhothoughtheneglectedthem,orthathewasnotsimple,orthatheposed.TheirresponseswerenotdissimilartothosethatDickevokedinnon-professionallife,butheretheywerewarpedanddistorted.

           OneEnglishwomanspoketohimalwaysaboutasubjectwhichsheconsideredherown.

           "Havewegotmusicto-night?"

           "Idon’tknow,"heanswered.

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