"Here's the most remarkable appeal," observed Kennedy, one
morning, as he tossed over to me a letter. "What do you make of
that?" It read:

MONTROSE, CONN.

MY DEAR PROFESSOR KENNEDY:

You do not know me, but I have heard a great deal about you.
Please, I beg of you, do not disregard this letter. At least try
to verify the appeal I am making.

I am here at the Belleclaire Sanatorium, run by Dr. Bolton Burr,
in Montrose. But it is not a real sanatorium. It is really a
private asylum.

Let me tell my story briefly. After my baby was born I devoted
myself to it. But, in spite of everything, it died. Meanwhile my
husband neglected me terribly. After the baby's death I was a
nervous wreck, and I came up here to rest.

Now I find I am being held here as an insane patient. I cannot get
out. I do not even know whether this letter will reach you. But
the chambermaid here has told me she will post it for me.

I am ill and nervous--a wreck, but not insane, although they will
tell you that the twilight-sleep treatment affected my mind. But
what is happening here will eventually drive me insane if some one
does not come to my rescue.