“You argue, then, that the insanity is synchronous with the discovery?”
The doctor nodded, trudging sturdily forward toward the turn in the road which led to his own house. The autumn air was chill with frost, and Faunce seemed to shiver as he buttoned up his coat. Dr. Gerry, observing the young man from the tail of his eye, remarked it.
“Feel a chill, eh? I shouldn’t think you’d mind it, after the south pole!”
“Any touch of cold that reminds me of that is enough to make me shiver. I can’t close my eyes now without seeing those livid wastes and hearing the wind. It’s a frozen hell!”
“It’s on your nerves. How many hours do you sleep at night?”
Faunce gave him an uneasy look, in which surprise and something like apprehension were strangely mingled; but the street lights were poor, and he could only half discern the old man’s face as it emerged above the heavy collar of his greatcoat.
“I don’t sleep at all. How did you find that out?”
“I’ve seen a good many in the same plight before, for one thing, and you’re a pretty easy case to read.”
“Am I?” Faunce laughed harshly. “I didn’t know it. Perhaps you can tell me what to do, then?”
“Stop taking narcotics, to begin with, and then get control of your nerves.”