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a feeling of exultation. At first Philip, in order not to for-
get what he had learned, tried to go on reading his medical
books, but he found it useless; he could not fix his attention
on them after the exhausting work of the day; and it seemed
hopeless to continue working when he did not know in
how long he would be able to go back to the hospital. He
dreamed constantly that he was in the wards. The awaken-
ing was painful. The sensation of other people sleeping in
the room was inexpressibly irksome to him; he had been
used to solitude, and to be with others always, never to be
by himself for an instant was at these moments horrible to
him. It was then that he found it most difficult to combat
his despair. He saw himself going on with that life, first to
the right, second on the left, madam, indefinitely; and hav-
ing to be thankful if he was not sent away: the men who had
gone to the war would be coming home soon, the firm had
guaranteed to take them back, and this must mean that oth-
ers would be sacked; he would have to stir himself even to
keep the wretched post he had.
There was only one thing to free him and that was the
death of his uncle. He would get a few hundred pounds then,
and on this he could finish his course at the hospital. Philip
began to wish with all his might for the old man’s death. He
reckoned out how long he could possibly live: he was well
over seventy, Philip did not know his exact age, but he must
be at least seventy-five; he suffered from chronic bronchitis
and every winter had a bad cough. Though he knew them
by heart Philip read over and over again the details in his
text-book of medicine of chronic bronchitis in the old. A

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