Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. The doctor stood, with his hand on the doorknob, looking back into his wife’s boudoir.<br><br>There was nothing in that room suggestive of town or of town life and work – delicate green and white, a mossy carpet, masses of spring flowers; cool, soft, noiseless, fragrant.<br><br>Standing in the doorway the doctor could hear the agitated clang of the street-door bell, Stoddart crossing the hall, the opening and closing of the door, and Stoddart’s subdued and sympathetic voice saying, Step this way, please. A heavy, depressed foot or an anxious, hurried one, according to the mental condition of its owner, obeyed; and the shutting of the library door meant another patient added to the number of those who were already listlessly turning over the pages of bound volumes of Punch or scrutinizing with unseeing eyes the Landseer engraving over the mantelpiece.
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