"
"He'll have to take leave after this," said the Doctor. "He won't be fit for
work for another three months. No; it isn't insanity or anything like it. It's
only complete loss of control over the speech and memory. I fancy it will keep
the Blastoderm quiet, though."
Two days later, the Blastoderm found his tongue again. The first question he
asked was: "What was it?" The Doctor enlightened him.
"But I can't understand it!" said the Blastoderm; "I'm quite sane; but I can't
be sure of my mind, it seems--my OWN memory--can I?"
"Go up into the Hills for three months, and don't think about it," said the
Doctor.
"But I can't understand it," repeated the Blastoderm. "It was my OWN mind and
memory."
"I can't help it," said the Doctor; "there are a good many things you can't
understand; and, by the time you have put in my length of service, you'll know
exactly how much a man dare call his own in this world."
The stroke cowed the Blastoderm. He could not understand it. He went into the
Hills in fear and trembling, wondering whether he would be permitted to reach
the end of any sentence he began.
This gave him a wholesome feeling of mistrust. The legitimate explanation,
that he had been overworking himself, failed to satisfy him.
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