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The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton — Part 1 by Edith Wharton
page 100 of 177 (56%)
He had not entered a theatre for months; but he sat out the
meaningless performance in rigid tolerance, sustained by the
sense of the reporter's observation.

Between the acts, McCarren amused him with anecdotes about the
audience: he knew every one by sight, and could lift the curtain
from every physiognomy. Granice listened indulgently. He had
lost all interest in his kind, but he knew that he was himself
the real centre of McCarren's attention, and that every word the
latter spoke had an indirect bearing on his own problem.

"See that fellow over there--the little dried-up man in the third
row, pulling his moustache? HIS memoirs would be worth
publishing," McCarren said suddenly in the last entr'acte.

Granice, following his glance, recognized the detective from
Allonby's office. For a moment he had the thrilling sense that
he was being shadowed.

"Caesar, if HE could talk--!" McCarren continued. "Know who he
is, of course? Dr. John B. Stell, the biggest alienist in the
country--"

Granice, with a start, bent again between the heads in front of
him. "THAT man--the fourth from the aisle? You're mistaken.
That's not Dr. Stell."

McCarren laughed. "Well, I guess I've been in court enough to
know Stell when I see him. He testifies in nearly all the big
cases where they plead insanity."
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