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under certain circumstances-say, on a particular occasion. He tried
to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself
made him less able to bear it.”
“Would he remember what took place in the relapse?” asked Mr.
Lorry, with natural hesitation.
The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, and
answered, in a low voice, “Not at all.” “Now, as to the future,”
hinted Mr. Lorry.
“As to the future,” said the Doctor, recovering firmness, “I should
have great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him
so soon, I should have great hope. He, yielding under the pressure
of a complicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely
foreseen and contended against, and recovering after the cloud had
burst and passed, I should hope that the worst was over.” “Well,
well! That’s good comfort. I am thankful!” said Mr. Lorry.
“I am thankful!” repeated the Doctor, bending his head with
“There are two other points,” said Mr. Lorry, “on which I am
anxious to be instructed. I may go on?” “You cannot do your friend
a better service.” The Doctor gave him his hand.
“To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually
energetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition of
professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to many
things. Now, does he do too much?” “I think not. It may be the
character of his mind, to be always in singular need of occupation.
That may be, in part, natural to it; in part, the result of affliction.
The less it was occupied with healthy things, the more it would be
in danger of turning in the unhealthy direction. He may have
observed himself, and made the discovery.” “You are sure that he
is not under too great a strain?” “I think I am quite sure of it.” “My
dear Manette, if he were overworked now-” “My dear Lorry, I
doubt if that could easily be. There has been a violent stress in one
direction, and it needs a counterweight.” “Excuse me, as a
persistent man of business. Assuming for a moment, that he was
overworked; it would show itself in some renewal of this
disorder?” “I do not think so. I do not think,” said Doctor Manette
with the firmness of self-conviction, “that anything but the one
train of association would renew it. I think that, henceforth,
nothing but some extraordinary jarring of that chord could renew
it. After what has happened, and after his recovery, I find it
difficult to imagine any such violent sounding of that string again.
I trust, and I almost believe, that the circumstances likely to renew
it are exhausted.” He spoke with the diffidence of a man who knew
how slight a thing would overset the delicate organisation of the