Місіс Деллоуей

           FortherewasinSirWilliam,whosefatherhadbeenatradesman,anaturalrespectforbreedingandclothing,whichshabbinessnettled;again,moreprofoundly,therewasinSirWilliam,whohadneverhadtimeforreading,agrudge,deeplyburied,againstcultivatedpeoplewhocameintohisroomandintimatedthatdoctors,whoseprofessionisaconstantstrainuponallthehighestfaculties,arenoteducatedmen.

           “OneofMYhomes,Mr.WarrenSmith,”hesaid,“wherewewillteachyoutorest.”

           Andtherewasjustonethingmore.

           HewasquitecertainthatwhenMr.WarrenSmithwaswellhewasthelastmanintheworldtofrightenhiswife.Buthehadtalkedofkillinghimself.

           “Weallhaveourmomentsofdepression,”saidSirWilliam.

           Onceyoufall,Septimusrepeatedtohimself,humannatureisonyou.HolmesandBradshawareonyou.Theyscourthedesert.Theyflyscreamingintothewilderness.Therackandthethumbscrewareapplied.Humannatureisremorseless.

           “Impulsescameuponhimsometimes?”SirWilliamasked,withhispencilonapinkcard.

           Thatwashisownaffair,saidSeptimus.

           “Nobodylivesforhimselfalone,”saidSirWilliam,glancingatthephotographofhiswifeinCourtdress.

           “Andyouhaveabrilliantcareerbeforeyou,”saidSirWilliam.TherewasMr.Brewer’sletteronthetable.“Anexceptionallybrilliantcareer.