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The patient left the house with much more self-possession than he had shown when entering it. Dr. Martineau had thrust him back from his intenser prepossessions to a more generalized view of himself, had made his troubles objective and detached him from them. He could even find something amusing now in his situation. He liked the immense scope of the theoretical duet in which they had indulged. He felt that most of it was entirely true—and, in some untraceable manner, absurd. There were entertaining possibilities in the prospect of the doctor drawing him out—he himself partly assisting and partly resisting.

He was a man of extensive reservations. His private life was in some respects exceptionally private.

“I don’t confide.... Do I even confide in myself? I imagine I do.... Is there anything in myself that I haven’t looked squarely in the face?... How much are we going into? Even as regards facts?

“Does it really help a man—to see himself?...”