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The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton — Part 1 by Edith Wharton
page 74 of 177 (41%)

It was after midnight when Ascham left.

His hand on Granice's shoulder, as he turned to go--"District
Attorney be hanged; see a doctor, see a doctor!" he had cried;
and so, with an exaggerated laugh, had pulled on his coat and
departed.

Granice turned back into the library. It had never occurred to
him that Ascham would not believe his story. For three hours he
had explained, elucidated, patiently and painfully gone over
every detail--but without once breaking down the iron incredulity
of the lawyer's eye.

At first Ascham had feigned to be convinced--but that, as Granice
now perceived, was simply to get him to expose himself, to entrap
him into contradictions. And when the attempt failed, when
Granice triumphantly met and refuted each disconcerting question,
the lawyer dropped the mask suddenly, and said with a good-
humoured laugh: "By Jove, Granice you'll write a successful play
yet. The way you've worked this all out is a marvel."

Granice swung about furiously--that last sneer about the play
inflamed him. Was all the world in a conspiracy to deride his
failure?

"I did it, I did it," he muttered sullenly, his rage spending
itself against the impenetrable surface of the other's mockery;
and Ascham answered with a smile: "Ever read any of those books
on hallucination? I've got a fairly good medico-legal library.
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