THE GOVERNOR. Not at all, Mr. Wooder.
WOODER. Very good, sir.
The DOCTOR has come out of FALDER's Cell, and the GOVERNOR beckons to him.
THE GOVERNOR. Well?
THE DOCTOR. I can't make anything much of him. He's nervous, of course.
THE GOVERNOR. Is there any sort of case to report? Quite frankly, Doctor.
THE DOCTOR. Well, I don't think the separates doing him any good; but then I could say the same of a lot of them—they'd get on better in the shops, there's no doubt.
THE GOVERNOR. You mean you'd have to recommend others?
THE DOCTOR. A dozen at least. It's on his nerves. There's nothing tangible. That fellow there [pointing to O'CLEARY'S cell], for instance—feels it just as much, in his way. If I once get away from physical facts—I shan't know where I am. Conscientiously, sir, I don't know how to differentiate him. He hasn't lost weight. Nothing wrong with his eyes. His pulse is good. Talks all right.
THE GOVERNOR. It doesn't amount to melancholia?