midday
And it is a strange habit this talking aloud of the solitary soul . Mad ? Not a bit . Dumb in the babel and din of chaotic midday , unresponsive to the uncongenial matter around , it will talk on subjects gay and grave , and even laugh with the silent sympathetic shades of midnight . Nevertheless it is mighty eerie to hear it unawares . For the twentieth time the famous specialist picked up a letter and read it from beginning to end . `` Strange , Jim , old fellow , '' said he as he laid it down , `` strange how I think of you to-night .