She returns to him that afternoon. He does not speak. He does not open his eyes. He does not eat. But he whimpers when she takes his pulse and grips her hand with two of his white fingers.
(They want to speak to her. The doctors want to speak to her. Everything about her is stiff and formal. Her legs are stiff as she walks down the stairs. Her eyes are wide, her face set. She knows that if she does one thing wrong, it will be over. And she definitely does not want it to be over.
When at last she reaches the bottom of the stairs, the maid following behind her, she notices that the doctors are not like her father. They are doctors from the asylum. She can tell by the types of papers on their clipboards. She's done a lot of research on doctors and she knows that the papers are for the files on patients, and the diseases listed are mostly mental conditions so they must be from the asylum. She does not speak. She desperately wants to, but she knows that Father will speak on her behalf.
Oddly, the doctors say it is her they would like to speak to. They begin to ask her questions. How long has she lived here? Has she been to school? Does she do well in school? Does she have many friends?
The questions become more specific. Does she sometimes sit on the fence outside? Does she ever talk to people who pass by? Did she ever see a man with a gash in his leg? Did she offer to sew up the gash for him?
She answers them honestly. It has become clear to her that they do not want her to come to the asylum as a doctor. She notices that the shorter doctor has something in his hand that is not a clipboard. It is white and made of cloth and has many buckles. It is small like she is.
The shorter doctor sets down his clipboard and picks up the white cloth buckled thing with both hands. She is amazed. She has never seen a straightjacket before. She has seen pictures of them, but like with the doctors it is not the same. She reaches out and touches it softly, almost reverantly. Then she looks to Father, silently pleading with him. Can she go? Please?
It is a stupid plea. He has to let her go. She knows that she is, in a sense, being forcibly taken, even though she really wants to go. But her compliance seems to have gone over well. The doctors do not hold her arms when they take her to the carriage. They let her hold the jacket on her lap on her way to the asylum.)