DOCTOR. They were given me by a patient. He's not quite sane.

STRANGER. Is he staying in the house?

DOCTOR. Yes. He's a quiet soul, who ponders on the purposelessness
of nature. He thinks it foolish for hellebore to grow in the snow
and freeze; so he puts the plants in the cellar and beds them out
in the spring.

STRANGER. But a madman ... in the house. Most unpleasant!

DOCTOR. He's very harmless.

STRANGER. How did he lose his wits?

DOCTOR. Who can tell. It's a disease of the mind, not the body.

STRANGER. Tell me--is he here--now?

DOCTOR. Yes. He's free to wander in the garden and arrange
creation. But if his presence disquiets you, we can shut him up.

STRANGER. Why aren't such poor devils put out of--their misery?

DOCTOR. It's hard to know whether they're ripe. ...

STRANGER. What for?

DOCTOR. For what's to come.