Page 268 - tender-is-the-night

age of wood; always half a dozen men were there, hammer-
ing, planing, buzzing— silent men, who lifted solemn eyes
from their work as he passed through. Himself a good car-
penter, he discussed with them the efficiency of some tools
for a moment in a quiet, personal, interested voice. Adjoin-
ing was the book-bindery, adapted to the most mobile of
patients who were not always, however, those who had the
greatest chance for recovery. The last chamber was devot-
ed to beadwork, weaving and work in brass. The faces of
the patients here wore the expression of one who had just
sighed profoundly, dismissing something insoluble—but
their sighs only marked the beginning of another ceaseless
round of ratiocination, not in a line as with normal people
but in the same circle. Round, round, and round. Around
forever. But the bright colors of the stuffs they worked with
gave strangers a momentary illusion that all was well, as in
a kindergarten. These patients brightened as Doctor Div-
er came in. Most of them liked him better than they liked
Doctor Gregorovius. Those who had once lived in the great
world invariably liked him better. There were a few who
thought he neglected them, or that he was not simple, or
that he posed. Their responses were not dissimilar to those
that Dick evoked in nonprofessional life, but here they were
warped and distorted.
One Englishwoman spoke to him always about a subject
which she considered her own.
‘Have we got music to-night?’
‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I haven’t seen Doctor Ladis-
lau. How did you enjoy the music that Mrs. Sachs and Mr.

268 Tender is the Night