You love this man--no, do not be angry, do not interrupt
me. You could not do better for yourself, nor for him. I knew him years
ago. He is a grand man--the sort of man I would like to be. Good. You
find him suffering from a delusion, or a memory, whichever it be. Not
only is this delusion--let us call it so--ruining his happiness and
undermining his strength, but so long as it endures, it also completely
excludes the possibility of his feeling for you what you feel for him.
Your own interest coincides exactly with the promptings of real, human
charity. And yours is in reality a charitable nature, dear Unorna,
though you are sometimes a little hasty with poor old Keyork. Good
again. You, being moved by a desire for this man's welfare, most kindly
and wisely take steps to cure him of his madness. The delusion is
strong, but your will is stronger. The delusion yields after a violent
struggle during which it has even impressed itself upon your own senses.
The patient is brought home, properly cared for, and disposed to
rest. Then he wakes, apparently of his own accord, and behold! he is
completely cured. Everything has been successful, everything is perfect,
everything has followed the usual course of such mental cures by means
of hypnosis. The only thing I do not understand is the waking. That is
the only thing which makes me uneasy for the future, until I can see it
properly explained.
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