You can hear his crazed laughter even now, muffled through the walls. The fit will spend itself in time. Then you shall see the sallow, smiling sinner, with teeth as white as death, his bloodless face—those manic eyes which have lost all color. He may respond to questions if the fit does not weary him too badly. His ready inanities are at times amusing, though a dreadful suspicion always troubles me that he means more than he says. He’ll allude to something, some secret he cannot know, and a blushing nurse will leave, or a doctor’s face grow stern.
The Three Patients
Tale Told 