Thomas was more communicative, though far from adequate.
It was about religion, he said, that Frank was talking--about religion....

And that was really about all that he could say of that incident.
Thomas awoke about one o'clock that night, and, still with the uneasiness that he had had earlier in the evening, climbed out of bed without disturbing his wife, put on his slippers and great-coat and made his way down the attic stairs.

The October moon was up, and, shining through the staircase window, showed him the door of the spare bedroom with a line of light beneath it.

From beyond that door came the steady murmur of a voice....
Now Thomas's nerves were strong: he was a little lean kind of man, very wiry and active, nearly fifty years old, and he had lived with his master, and the mice and the snakes, and disagreeable objects in bottles, for more than sixteen years.

He had been a male nurse in an asylum before that.