I rewrapped them, yes. They had been tied much too tightly;
it was cruel, not to mention unprofessional.
MRS. BENTHAM
You must trust the doctor with his own work, Stephen. He
knows best what needs to be done.
JACK
You think so? The man’s knuckles were black with blood.
Any first-year charity ward intern might have done better.
MRS. BENTHAM
(Surprised)
Stephen, were you . . . are you a physician?
JACK
I . . . don’t think so. My father . . .
(Pauses)
. . . no, forgive me. It’s gone again.
MRS. BENTHAM
(Rises)
I must tell Dr. Purl.
JACK
Must you?
MRS. BENTHAM
Well, certainly—this might be a clue to your identity. Don’t
you want to know who you truly are?
JACK
No.
MRS. BENTHAM
Whyever not?
JACK
Perhaps because . . . I may already have some idea.
MRS. BENTHAM