Not only did the friendly attendant frequently exhibit more wisdom than
the superintendent, but he also obeyed the dictates of a better
conscience than that of his nominal superior, the assistant physician.
On three occasions this man treated me with a signal lack of
consideration, and in at least one instance he was vicious. When this
latter incident occurred, I was both physically and mentally helpless.
My feet were swollen and still in plaster bandages. I was all but mute,
uttering only an occasional expletive when forced to perform acts
against my will.

One morning Doctor No-name (he represents a type) entered my room.

"Good morning! How are you feeling?" he asked.

No answer.

"Aren't you feeling well?"

No answer.

"Why don't you talk?" he asked with irritation.

Still no answer, except perhaps a contemptuous look such as is so often
the essence of eloquence. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning,
as a petulant child locked in a room for disobedience might treat a
pillow, he seized me by an arm and jerked me from the bed. It was
fortunate that the bones of my ankles and feet, not yet thoroughly
knitted, were not again injured. And this was the performance of the
very man who had locked my hands in the muff, that I might not injure
myself!