Місіс Деллоуей

           Once,longago,shehadcaughtsalmonfreely:now,quicktoministertothecravingwhichlitherhusband’seyesooililyfordominion,forpower,shecramped,squeezed,pared,pruned,drewback,peepedthrough;sothatwithoutknowingpreciselywhatmadetheeveningdisagreeable,andcausedthispressureonthetopofthehead(whichmightwellbeimputedtotheprofessionalconversation,orthefatigueofagreatdoctorwhoselife,LadyBradshawsaid,“isnothisownbuthispatients’”)disagreeableitwas:sothatguests,whentheclockstruckten,breathedintheairofHarleyStreetevenwithrapture;whichrelief,however,wasdeniedtohispatients.

           Thereinthegreyroom,withthepicturesonthewall,andthevaluablefurniture,underthegroundglassskylight,theylearnttheextentoftheirtransgressions;huddledupinarm-chairs,theywatchedhimgothrough,fortheirbenefit,acuriousexercisewiththearms,whichheshotout,broughtsharplybacktohiship,toprove(ifthepatientwasobstinate)thatSirWilliamwasmasterofhisownactions,whichthepatientwasnot.Theresomeweaklybrokedown;sobbed,submitted;others,inspiredbyHeavenknowswhatintemperatemadness,calledSirWilliamtohisfaceadamnablehumbug;questioned,evenmoreimpiously,lifeitself.Whylive?theydemanded.SirWilliamrepliedthatlifewasgood.CertainlyLadyBradshawinostrichfeathershungoverthemantelpiece,andasforhisincomeitwasquitetwelvethousandayear.Buttous,theyprotested,lifehasgivennosuchbounty.