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 promptly. Then he smiled at me. "You don't mind my coming?"

"Have you found out what is the matter with me?"

"I know what is the matter with you!"

"Do you know I get weaker instead of stronger?"

"I thought you would."

"Tell me the truth. Is there no hope for me?"

"Patients ask so often for the truth. But they never want it."

"I am not like other patients. Haven't I got a dog's chance?" He shook his head.

"How long?"

"Months. Very likely years. No one can tell. You are full of vitality. If you live in the right way..."

"Like this?"

"More or less."

"And nothing more can be done for me?"

"Rest, open air, occupation for the mind." I thought over what he had just told me. I had known or guessed it before, but put into words it seemed different, more definite. "Not a dog's chance."

"You think Margaret Capel and Gabriel Stanton will do me good? They are part of your treatment?" I asked him.

"They and I," he said. I was silent after that, silent for quite a long time. He was sitting beside