When the doctor came, he looked a minute at my desk, at the whole eye-straining mass of faded print and notes. He snapped on the electric light.
"I suppose you work a lot in this fiendish glare?"
"I need a strong light," I said.
He grunted in disgust.
"This will hurt," he said, as he made me sit down near the electric light, "but you've got to bear it."
He fixed a little mirror on his forehead and flashed the cruel ray into my eye. Back somewhere in the brain it focussed and burned. The sweat broke out all over me.
"Now the other eye."
I flinched for a moment, holding my hand before it.
"Come, come," he said gruffly, and I took my hand away.
When the ordeal was over, he tied a black bandage over my eyes, laid me down on the lounge and lectured me. When he stopped for breath, I interrupted.