He tried vainly to think of her as a person to be pitied--a person with a morbidly sensitive imagination, conscious of the capacities for evil which lie dormant in us all, and striving earnestly to open her heart to the counter-influence of her own better nature; the effort was beyond him.
A perverse instinct in him said, as if in words, Beware how you believe in her! 'I have already given you my opinion,' he said.

'There is no sign of your intellect being deranged, or being likely to be deranged, that medical science can discover--as I understand it.

As for the impressions you have confided to me, I can only say that yours is a case (as I venture to think) for spiritual rather than for medical advice.

Of one thing be assured: what you have said to me in this room shall not pass out of it.

Your confession is safe in my keeping.' She heard him, with a certain dogged resignation, to the end.
'Is that all ?' she asked.
'That is all,' he answered.
She put a little paper packet of money on the table.