think me a person suffering from some neurosis with a fancy name, who has to flit from hotel to hotel. You are mistaken. I am upset, at the moment, by an inability to work and I am accustomed to work.'
Dr Raumwitz said nothing, stared without blinking and with impersonal contempt, and when Hendricks had lifted his suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, Dr Raumwitz was gone.
Quite right, Hendricks thought with satisfaction, he could be reported to the medical profession, very unethical to break in on people and solicit trade. Then Hendricks had one of those terrifying suspended moments, knowing this had all happened before, but where, to whom, in what life, and he thought: there was no one here, I've started talking to myself; this is very bad, I better get on home and cut this out; I'll begin to think I really did see that fellow if I'm not careful.
June Hendricks was relieved to find her husband home at lunch-time. For six days she had been telling her friends that Matty had at last turned into a writer, he found hotels were more inspirational, too comic of Matty, such an affectation, it must be something you caught from Paris. She had done this cheerfully and well and her friends believed Matthew had gone off on a toot with a lady which was nobody's business. The Hendricks were married for keeps, that was clear; they both had flirts from time to time; their marriage was considered very good; June's manners, in this instance, were faultless. June would have accepted a short trip with a woman but was annoyed by a break in custom. She wished always to know where she stood; a need of hotel rooms for working was new and disagreeable.
'I hope you worked well,' she said at lunch in an unfriendly voice.
'I didn't work at all.'
She refused to discuss it; she would not indulge Matthew in this folly. She told him her news: the theatre, Balenciaga's collection, the Boyds were going to Tangier since a fortune-teller had predicted a wet winter in Paris, Madge Jarvis and Johnny Fitch were a thing, they spent their evenings at Monseigneur's, which was so childish you could only do it if beginning a romance, Ermilla had a boil poor creature, she thought they might join the Boyds for Christmas or go to Tunis on their own. He did not listen; he wondered if he changed his schedule and worked in the afternoons it would go better.
His workroom looked abandoned and strange, he seemed to have been away from it for months. The last chapter had been written by someone else; he went back and read through the whole book, it was more than half finished. He could not imagine who had dreamed it up, nothing was familiar. It was a bore, which did not surprise him. The books were not written to please him, they were for other people whose tastes he had always understood. Suddenly I he felt he had come to the wrong house, this was not his address; the room seemed queer because he did not belong in it. He went into the bathroom and studied his face; to reassure himself. More than ever it appeared to be someone else's, and to have no connexion with him. I'll read, he decided, and made himself comfortable on the couch in his workroom. He tried a detective story and Madame Bovary and Paradise Lost and then started reading Black's Medical Dictionary , very slowly, saying the words in his mind. He got up, put on his raincoat and hat, and left the house.
He was sitting on a bench in the sodden Tuileries Gardens when Dr Raumwitz returned. Dr Raumwitz, oddly, looked just the same outdoors as indoors; he had on a starched white medical gown with a collar like a Russian blouse, he was inordinately clean. His skin was colourless but not sick, he had thin brownish hair combed over a large bald spot, his eyes were fish-round and pale blue. Dr Raumwitz appeared to be waiting, but not for anyone or anything.
'All right,' Hendricks said, 'I'll talk.'
This did not seem to interest the doctor; whether Hendricks talked or not was his own affair. He might not have
Dr Raumwitz said nothing, stared without blinking and with impersonal contempt, and when Hendricks had lifted his suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, Dr Raumwitz was gone.
Quite right, Hendricks thought with satisfaction, he could be reported to the medical profession, very unethical to break in on people and solicit trade. Then Hendricks had one of those terrifying suspended moments, knowing this had all happened before, but where, to whom, in what life, and he thought: there was no one here, I've started talking to myself; this is very bad, I better get on home and cut this out; I'll begin to think I really did see that fellow if I'm not careful.
June Hendricks was relieved to find her husband home at lunch-time. For six days she had been telling her friends that Matty had at last turned into a writer, he found hotels were more inspirational, too comic of Matty, such an affectation, it must be something you caught from Paris. She had done this cheerfully and well and her friends believed Matthew had gone off on a toot with a lady which was nobody's business. The Hendricks were married for keeps, that was clear; they both had flirts from time to time; their marriage was considered very good; June's manners, in this instance, were faultless. June would have accepted a short trip with a woman but was annoyed by a break in custom. She wished always to know where she stood; a need of hotel rooms for working was new and disagreeable.
'I hope you worked well,' she said at lunch in an unfriendly voice.
'I didn't work at all.'
She refused to discuss it; she would not indulge Matthew in this folly. She told him her news: the theatre, Balenciaga's collection, the Boyds were going to Tangier since a fortune-teller had predicted a wet winter in Paris, Madge Jarvis and Johnny Fitch were a thing, they spent their evenings at Monseigneur's, which was so childish you could only do it if beginning a romance, Ermilla had a boil poor creature, she thought they might join the Boyds for Christmas or go to Tunis on their own. He did not listen; he wondered if he changed his schedule and worked in the afternoons it would go better.
His workroom looked abandoned and strange, he seemed to have been away from it for months. The last chapter had been written by someone else; he went back and read through the whole book, it was more than half finished. He could not imagine who had dreamed it up, nothing was familiar. It was a bore, which did not surprise him. The books were not written to please him, they were for other people whose tastes he had always understood. Suddenly I he felt he had come to the wrong house, this was not his address; the room seemed queer because he did not belong in it. He went into the bathroom and studied his face; to reassure himself. More than ever it appeared to be someone else's, and to have no connexion with him. I'll read, he decided, and made himself comfortable on the couch in his workroom. He tried a detective story and Madame Bovary and Paradise Lost and then started reading Black's Medical Dictionary , very slowly, saying the words in his mind. He got up, put on his raincoat and hat, and left the house.
He was sitting on a bench in the sodden Tuileries Gardens when Dr Raumwitz returned. Dr Raumwitz, oddly, looked just the same outdoors as indoors; he had on a starched white medical gown with a collar like a Russian blouse, he was inordinately clean. His skin was colourless but not sick, he had thin brownish hair combed over a large bald spot, his eyes were fish-round and pale blue. Dr Raumwitz appeared to be waiting, but not for anyone or anything.
'All right,' Hendricks said, 'I'll talk.'
This did not seem to interest the doctor; whether Hendricks talked or not was his own affair. He might not have
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