She and her cough had played fast and
loose with Queed's great work that evening, and, moreover, it took him a
minute and a half to get her out of his mind after she had gone. Not
long afterwards, he discovered that the yellow sheet he wrote upon was
the last of his pad. That meant that he must count out time to go
upstairs and get another one.
Count out time! Why, that was what his whole life had come down to now!
What was it but a steady counting out of ever more and more time?
The thirty days of hours ceded to Klinker were up, and instead of at
once bringing the prodigal experiment to a close, Doctor Queed found
himself terribly tempted to listen to his trainer's entreaties and
extend by fifty per centum the time allotted to the gymnasium and
open-air pedestrianism. He could not avoid the knowledge that he felt
decidedly better since he had begun the exercises, especially during
these last few days. For a week "the" headache and he had been
strangers. Much more important, he was conscious of bringing to his
work, not indeed a livelier interest, for that would have been
impossible, but an increasing vitality and an enlarged capacity.
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