It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. The benches running round the room, though fastened to the walls by iron clamps, had been forcibly wrenched off; while the table, which was similarly secured to the boards, was upset, and its contents—bottles, jugs, glasses, and bowls were broken and scattered about in all directions. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet.
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