He has never spoken to us
from that time to this."
"Where is he now?" I said, getting up in some agitation. "We ought
not to leave him alone."
"Doctor Colman is with him," said Miss Chadd calmly. "They are in
the garden. Doctor Colman thought the air would do him good. And he
can scarcely go into the street."
Basil and I walked rapidly to the window which looked out on the
garden. It was a small and somewhat smug suburban garden; the
flower beds a little too neat and like the pattern of a coloured
carpet; but on this shining and opulent summer day even they had
the exuberance of something natural, I had almost said tropical.
In the middle of a bright and verdant but painfully circular lawn
stood two figures. One of them was a small, sharp-looking man with
black whiskers and a very polished hat (I presume Dr Colman), who
was talking very quietly and clearly, yet with a nervous twitch, as
it were, in his face. The other was our old friend, listening with
his old forbearing expression and owlish eyes, the strong sunlight
gleaming on his glasses as the lamplight had gleamed the night
before, when the boisterous Basil had rallied him on his studious
decorum. But for one thing the figure of this morning might have
been the identical figure of last night.
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