Ruthven turned, took two unsteady steps forward, and laid his heavily
ringed hand on the back of a chair. Selwyn smiled, and Ruthven sat down.
"Now," continued Selwyn, "for certain rules of conduct to govern you
during the remainder of your wife's lifetime. . . . And your wife is
ill, Mr. Ruthven--sick of a sickness which may last for a great many
years, or may be terminated in as many days. Did you know it?"
Ruthven snarled.
"Yes, of course you knew it, or you suspected it. Your wife is in a
sanitarium, as you have discovered. She is mentally ill--rational at
times--violent at moments, and for long periods quite docile, gentle,
harmless--content to be talked to, read to, advised, persuaded. But
during the last week a change of a certain nature has occurred
which--which, I am told by competent physicians, not only renders her
case beyond all hope of ultimate recovery, but threatens an earlier
termination than was at first looked for. It is this: your wife has
become like a child again--occupied contentedly and quite happily with
childish things.
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