Eleven
I
Night settled down on Sunny Point.
Sheltered by its walls, seven people retired¹ to rest, but none of themslept well….
II
Philip Durrant, since his illness and his loss of bodily activity, had foundmore and more solace² in mental activity. Always a highly intelligent man,he now became conscious of the resources opening out to him through themedium of intelligence. He amused himself sometimes by forecasting thereactions of those around him to suitable stimuli³. What he said and didwas often not a natural outpouring, but a calculated one, motivated simplyand solely⁴ to observe the response to it. It was a kind of game that heplayed; when he got the anticipated response, he chalked up, as it were, amark to himself.
As a result of this pastime he found himself, for perhaps the first time inhis life, keenly observant of the differences and realities of human person-ality.
Human personalities⁵ as such had not previously⁶ interested him verymuch. He liked or disliked, was amused or bored by, the people who sur-rounded him or whom he met. He had always been a man of action, andnot a man of thought. His imagination, which was considerable, had beenexercised in devising various schemes for making money. All theseschemes had a sound core; but a complete lack of business ability alwaysresulted in their coming to nothing. People, as such, had up till now onlybeen considered by him as pawns⁷ in the game. Now, since his illness cuthim off from his former active life, he was forced to take account of whatpeople themselves were like.
It had started in the hospital when the love lives of the nurses, the secretwarfare and the petty grievances⁸ of hospital life had been forced on his at-tention since there was nothing else to occupy it. And now it was fast be-coming a habit with him. People—really that was all that life held for himnow. Just people. People to study, to find out about, to sum up. Decide forhimself what made them tick and find out if he was right. Really, it couldall be very interesting….

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