It has always been a source of enjoyment to me to watch Kennedy badgering an unwilling and hostile witness. Shattuck was suddenly finding himself to be far from the man of few words he thought himself. It was not so much in what Kennedy asked as the manner in which he asked it. Shattuck was immediately placed on the defensive, much to his chagrin.
"Yes. I most strenuously object to being the subject of—what shall I call it—perhaps—this mental vivisection, I suppose," he snapped, vexed at himself for answering at all, yet finding himself under the necessity of finishing what he had unwillingly begun under the lash of Kennedy's quizzing.
Kennedy did not hesitate. "Why?" he asked. "Do you think that he sometimes oversteps his mark in trying to find out about the mental life of his patients?"
Shattuck managed to control a sharp reply that was trembling on his tongue.
"I would rather say nothing about it," he shrugged.
"I see you are a student of Freud yourself," switched Kennedy, quickly, with a nod toward the bookcase.
"And of many other things," retorted Shattuck. "You'll find about a ton of literature in that bookcase."
"But it was about her dreams," persisted Kennedy, "that she consulted Doctor Lathrop, I believe. Are you acquainted with the nature of the dreams?"
Shattuck eyed him in silence. It was evident that he realized that the only refuge from the quizzing lay in that direction.
"Really, sir," he said, at last, "I don't care to discuss a thing I know nothing about any further."