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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Stark Munro Letters"

A few surmised that the
platter might have something to do with it; but the
wisest of them could not deduce the existence of a cow."
We are at one, he and I, in thinking that the
infinite is beyond our perception. We differ only in
that he sees evil and I see good in the working of the
universe. Ah, what a mystery it all is! Let us be
honest and humble and think kindly of each other.
There's a line of stars all winking at me over the
opposite roof--winking slyly at the silly little person
with the pen and paper who is so earnest about what he
can never understand.
Well, now, I'll come back to something practical. It
is nearly a month since I wrote to you last. The date is
impressed upon my memory because it was the day after
Cullingworth shot the air-dart into my finger. The place
festered and prevented my writing to any one for a week
or two, but it is all right again now. I have ever so
much of different sorts to tell you, but really when I
come to think of it, it does not amount to very much
after all.
First of all, about the practice. I told you that I
was to have a room immediately opposite to
Cullingworth's, and that all the surgical cases were to
be turned over to me. For a few days I had nothing to
do, except to listen to him romping and scuffling with
his patients, or making speeches to them from the top of
the stairs. However, a great "Dr. Stark Munro, Surgeon,"
has been affixed to the side of the door downstairs,
opposite Cullingworth's plate; and a proud man was I when
first my eyes lit upon it.


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