Now that curiosity was satisfied, the professional instinct asserted itself. I reflected on the peculiar warped trait which so often causes a woman gifted with all the refinements of civilization to become infatuated with a male who is, in every sense, a barbarian.
I recalled the season at Earlscourt exposition in London when a dozen black, repulsive-featured cannibals had been exhibited. The over-zealous attentions of a concourse of well-dressed women of apparent refinement, who daily surged about them, caused their removal from the exhibit.
No, there was nothing very remarkable in the infatuation confessed by Margaret Kingsley. At least it was not remarkable to those who observe life with wide-open eyes.
CASE No. 27
A Few Minutes in a Madhouse
By MOLLIE FRANK ELLIS
Doctor Maynard paused midway of the long hospital corridor and waved an inclusive hand toward its twin rows of iron-barred cells.
“This, Wayne,” he said, “is the Psychopathic Ward. We have some unusual cases here. Take, for instance, Number Twenty-Seven. I’m sure you will be interested in Number Twenty-Seven. Step this way.”
