“An aching void in the regions of your brain, eh? Well, at your time of life that’s incurable.”
“I want you,” said the lawyer, his eyes roaming around the medical library, ranged upon the wall, with a gloating, gluttonous gleam at the idea of the feast of information within the covers of the volumes, “to lecture me, doctor.”
“Where’s your Medical Jurisprudence?”
“It doesn’t teach me all I want to know about ghosts.”
Surprise was something Dr. Lloyd was never known to express or imply. He sat looking at the visitor with his calm professional eye, as if it were the most habitual thing in the world for sane lawyers to come into his office at night, wanting to know about ghosts.
“I want to know all about absurd illusions,—in people of undoubted sanity.”
“Subject of some scope,” dryly remarked the doctor.
“I want to know all that you know about hallucinations, visions. I want an elaborate exposition of the visual apparatus as connected with the brain, and of the derangement of its nervous functions.”
“Upon my word, you’re a pretty fellow!”