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Dead Men Tell No Tales | E. W. Hornung | |
Chapter VI The Sole Survivor |
Page 3 of 3 |
This speech had the effect of really interesting the doctor in my present condition, which was indeed one of chronic irritation and extreme excitability, alternating with fits of the very blackest despair. Instead of offending my gentleman I had put him on his mettle, and for half an hour he honored me with the most exhaustive inquisition ever elicited from a medical man. His panacea was somewhat in the nature of an anti-climax, but at least it had the merits of simplicity and of common sense. A change of air - perfect quiet - say a cottage in the country - not too near the sea. And he shook my hand kindly when I left. "Keep up your heart, my dear sir," said he. "Keep up your courage and your heart." "My heart!" I cried. "It's at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean." He was the first to whom I had said as much. He was a stranger. What did it matter? And, oh, it was so true - so true. Every day and all day I was thinking of my love; every hour and all hours she was before me with her sunny hair and young, young face. Her wistful eyes were gazing into mine continually. Their wistfulness I had never realized at the time; but now I did; and I saw it for what it seemed always to have been, the soft, sad, yearning look of one fated to die young. So young - so young! And I might live to be an old man, mourning her. |
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Dead Men Tell No Tales E. W. Hornung |
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