Page 206 - tender-is-the-night

lost key to the silver closet, Dick knowing he had hid it un-
der the handkerchiefs in his mother’s top drawer; at that
time he had experienced a philosophical detachment, and
this was repeated now when he and Franz went together to
Professor Dohmler’s office.
The professor, his face beautiful under straight whiskers,
like a vine-overgrown veranda of some fine old house, dis-
armed him. Dick knew some individuals with more talent,
but no person of a class qualitatively superior to Dohmler.
—Six months later he thought the same way when he saw
Dohmler dead, the light out on the veranda, the vines of his
whiskers tickling his stiff white collar, the many battles that
had swayed before the chink-like eyes stilled forever under
the frail delicate lids—
‘... Good morning, sir.’ He stood formally, thrown back
to the army.
Professor Dohmler interlaced his tranquil fingers. Franz
spoke in terms half of liaison officer, half of secretary, till his
senior cut through him in mid-sentence.
‘We have gone a certain way,’ he said mildly. ‘It’s you,
Doctor Diver, who can best help us now.’
Routed out, Dick confessed: ‘I’m not so straight on it my-
self.’
‘I have nothing to do with your personal reactions,’ said
Dohmler. ‘But I have much to do with the fact that this so-
called ‘transference,’’ he darted a short ironic look at Franz
which the latter returned in kind, ‘must be terminated. Miss
Nicole does well indeed, but she is in no condition to sur-
vive what she might interpret as a tragedy.’

206 Tender is the Night