Dalton was an object of the most supreme compassion to the passengers, and where he had at first shunned their expressions of sympathy I noticed that as the days wore on he first endured, then courted them. His face, too, had changed; the fine, sensitive lines about the mouth and eyes were gradually erased; he began to put on flesh; his appetite was better than before the accident; his demeanor grew to be gentle and passive. I have seen women read to him by the hour and finally close the book and steal away in tears, but do you know, Doctor, that while my compassion was as great as ever, the change in the man had cooled my sympathy. I grew to be sorry for him only with my head."
"Burton understood. He said to me one day, ''Tis a rough thing, Doctor Leyden, that I cannot take yon poor lad's hurt more to heart, but 'tis not as if 'twas Dalton himself in such trouble. Honestly, Doctor, I believe that part of the man I loved was killed in him with the loss of his sight. . . .' He glanced
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