"You look tired, Mrs. Cranston," remarked Kennedy, thoughtfully.
"Why not rest while we are here, and then I will be sure my visit
has had no ill effects."

"Thank you," she murmured, and I was much impressed by the
sweetness of her voice.

As he spoke, Kennedy arranged the pillows on a chaise lounge and
placed her on it with her head slightly elevated. Having discussed
the subject of psychanalysis with Kennedy before, I knew that this
was so that nothing might distract her from the free association
of ideas.

He placed himself near her head, and motioned to us to stand
farther back of him, where she could not see us.

"Avoid all muscular exertion and distraction," he continued. "I
want you to concentrate your attention thoroughly. Tell me
anything that comes into your mind. Tell all you know of your
symptoms. Concentrate, and repeat all you think of. Frankly
express all the thoughts that you have, even though they may be
painful and embarrassing."

He said this soothingly, and she seemed to understand that much
depended upon her answers and the fact of not forcing her ideas.

"I am thinking of my husband," Mrs. Cranston began, finally, in a
dreamy tone.

"What of him?" suggested Kennedy.