Evans flamed suddenly. “I’d sell mine, if I could get the things I want.”
“I don’t want anything as much as I want my books.”
“I do. I want life as I used to live it.”
The doctor sat up and looked at him. “You mean before the war?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I’m tired of being half a man. If there’s any way out of it, I want you to tell me.”
The doctor’s eyes were bright with interest. He knew the first symptoms of recovery in such cases. The neurasthenic quality of Evans’ trouble had robbed him of initiative. His waking-up was a promising sign.
“The thing to do, of course, is to get to work. Why don’t you open an office?”
“A fat chance I’d have of getting clients.”