'
'True; I beg your pardon. I take the train here, so I'll say
good-night.'
They nodded to each other, but did not shake hands.
A day or two later, Milvain wrote to Mrs Yule, and told her that
he had seen Reardon; he did not describe the circumstances under
which the interview had taken place, but gave it as his opinion
that Reardon was in a state of nervous illness, and made by
suffering quite unlike himself. That he might be on the way to
positive mental disease seemed likely enough. 'Unhappily, I
myself can be of no use to him; he has not the same friendly
feeling for me as he used to have. But it is very certain that
those of his friends who have the power should exert themselves
to raise him out of this fearful slough of despond. If he isn't
effectually helped, there's no saying what may happen. One thing
is certain, I think: he is past helping himself. Sane literary
work cannot be expected from him. It seems a monstrous thing that
so good a fellow, and one with such excellent brains too, should
perish by the way when influential people would have no
difficulty in restoring him to health and usefulness.
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