Folk were a bit more
squeamish, if you remember, in those dear old pre-War days.
But please note _this_, for it is a part of his story. Jack wrote
seldom, having a sense that I didn't want to hear. When he did
write, however, he was liable at any time to break away from the
light, half-jesting, half-defiant tone which he had purposely chosen
to cover our disagreement, and to give me a sentence or two, or even
a page, of cold-blooded confession. It may have been that his
purpose, at that point, suddenly absorbed him, sucked him under.
It may have been that his fixed idea had begun to spread like a
disease over his other sensibilities, hardening and deadening the
tissue, so that he did this kind of thing unconsciously. It may have
been both. You shall judge before we have finished.
I will give you just one specimen. It occurs in the very first
letter addressed from America. He and Farrell had spent five days in
New York:
"I am going to ease the chain--to run it out several lengths,
in fact. I shall still keep pretty close in attendance on the
patient, but my professional visits will be rarer.
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