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I am in a position not unlike that of a man whose obituary notice has
appeared prematurely. Few have ever had a better opportunity than I to
test the affection of their relatives and friends. That mine did their
duty and did it willingly is naturally a constant source of
satisfaction to me. Indeed, I believe that this unbroken record of
devotion is one of the factors which eventually made it possible for me
to take up again my duties in the social and business world, with a
comfortable feeling of continuity. I can, indeed, now view my past in
as matter-of-fact a way as do those whose lives have been uniformly
uneventful.

As I have seen scores of patients neglected by their relatives--a
neglect which they resent and often brood upon--my sense of gratitude
is the livelier, and especially so because of the difficulty with which
friendly intercourse with me was maintained during two of the three
years I was ill. Relatives and friends frequently called to see me.
True, these calls were trying for all concerned. I spoke to none, not
even to my mother and father. For, though they all appeared about as
they used to do, I was able to detect some slight difference in look or
gesture or intonation of voice, and this was enough to confirm my
belief that they were impersonators, engaged in a conspiracy, not
merely to entrap me, but to incriminate those whom they impersonated.
It is not strange, then, that I refused to say anything to them, or to
permit them to come near me. To have kissed the woman who was my
mother, but whom I believed to be a federal conspirator, would have
been an act of betrayal. These interviews were much harder for my
relatives and friends than for me. But even for me they were ordeals;