He didn't
tell me what he was going to do, but in the afternoon Dr. Denbigh came
to see me. That's the way they do--I'm liable to have the doctor sent
in to look me over any time, whether I want him or not. Dr. Denbigh is
an excellent friend and a good doctor, but at my time of life I should
be lacking in intelligence if I didn't understand my constitution
better than any doctor can. They seem to think that there's more virtue
in a pill or a powder because a doctor gives it to one than because
one's common-sense tells one to take it. That afternoon I didn't need
him any more than a squirrel needs a pocket, and I told him so. He
laughed, and then grew serious.
"You're not looking as well as you did, Mrs. Evarts," he said, "and
Talbert told me that you had all the preliminary symptoms of one of
your attacks and wanted me to 'nip it in the bud,' he said."
"Dr. Denbigh," said I, "if the matter with me could be cured by the
things you know, there are other people in this house who need your
attention more than I." I wanted to add that if Cyrus would always be
as far-sighted as he has been about me there wouldn't be anything the
matter to-day, but I held my tongue.
"I see you're worried about something," the doctor said, very kindly.
"Mental anxiety pulls you down quicker than anything.
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