You can only tell this bare-faced lie
behind my back. Do you believe in God, and in a judgment to come? Then,
if you cannot release me, at least don't be such scoundrels as to stop my
letters, and so swindle me out of a fair trial, an open, public trial."
The doctor parried with a formula. "Publicity would be the greatest
misfortune could befall you. Pray be calm."
Now, an asylum is a place not entirely exempt from prejudices: and one of
them is, that any sort of appeal to God Almighty is a sign or else
forerunner of maniacal excitement.
These philosophers forget that by stopping letters, evading public
trials, and, in a word, cutting off all appeals to human justice, they
compel the patient to turn his despairing eyes, and lift his despairing
voice to Him, whose eye alone can ever really penetrate these dark
abodes.
However, the patient who appealed to God above a whisper in Silverton
Grove House used to get soothed directly. And the tranquillising
influences employed were morphia, croton oil, or a blister.
The keeper came to Alfred in his room. "Doctor has ordered a blister.
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