Місіс Деллоуей

           Theverdictofhumannatureonsuchawretchwasdeath.

           Dr.Holmescameagain.Large,freshcoloured,handsome,flickinghisboots,lookingintheglass,hebrusheditallaside—headaches,sleeplessness,fears,dreams—nervesymptomsandnothingmore,hesaid.IfDr.Holmesfoundhimselfevenhalfapoundbelowelevenstonesix,heaskedhiswifeforanotherplateofporridgeatbreakfast.(Reziawouldlearntocookporridge.)But,hecontinued,healthislargelyamatterinourowncontrol.Throwyourselfintooutsideinterests;takeupsomehobby.HeopenedShakespeare—AntonyandCleopatra;pushedShakespeareaside.Somehobby,saidDr.Holmes,fordidhenotowehisownexcellenthealth(andheworkedashardasanymaninLondon)tothefactthathecouldalwaysswitchofffromhispatientsontooldfurniture?Andwhataveryprettycomb,ifhemightsayso,Mrs.WarrenSmithwaswearing!

           Whenthedamnedfoolcameagain,Septimusrefusedtoseehim.Didheindeed?saidDr.Holmes,smilingagreeably.Reallyhehadtogivethatcharminglittlelady,Mrs.Smith,afriendlypushbeforehecouldgetpastherintoherhusband’sbedroom.

           “Soyou’reinafunk,”hesaidagreeably,sittingdownbyhispatient’sside.