Explore "The Warning" by Josephine Daskam Bacon on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Weldon leaned forward slightly in his chair, his hands loose between his knees, and faced the president steadily. The moment had come. All his rehearsals of it, all his tremours, all his incredulities must end here. He felt a distinct surprise at his collected coolness, his almost amused grasp of the situation. Except for the tense, guarded muscles that a month's racking, overworked strain had left conscious of their possible trickiness, he was absolutely himself.
And yet, what had the doctor warned him? To be very cautious when he felt so especially clear-headed and calm, after days of strain -- yes, just that. And when he had expostulated, "But, my dear Stanchon, how foolish! " had not the doctor replied, "All right, old man, but didn't you tell me that it was always after such little exaltations" -- he had shrugged impatiently at the phrase -- "that you were subject to these strange dozes you describe?"