The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton — Part 1 by Edith Wharton
page 100 of 177 (56%)
page 100 of 177 (56%)
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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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