" "On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. “I will go,” he said. I get the feeling that you are special, so alone, so beautiful that I must get to the bottom of you if it takes my whole life. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. ‘Tell me, my boy. "O, Lord!" ejaculated Wood. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. I can’t help it. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. S. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. Look somewhere else in life. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park.
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