"I mean," he said, after a quiet pause, "that the desire to live is
sometimes the only medicine that is of any avail. I know Guy
Ranger. He is a fool in many ways, but not in all. He is not for
instance fool enough to hang on to life if it holds nothing worth
having. He was born with an immense love of life. He would not
have done this thing if he had not somehow lost this gift--for it
is a gift. If he does not get it back--somehow--then," the black,
stony eyes looked into hers without emotion--"he will die."
She shrank at the cold deliberation of his words. "Oh no--no! Not
like this! Not--by his own hand!"
"Ah!" He leaned towards her, bringing his sallow, impassive
countenance close to hers, repulsively close, to her over-acute
sensibilities. "And how is that to be prevented? Who is to give
him that priceless remedy--the only medicine that can save him?
Can I?" He lifted his shoulders expressively, indicating his own
helplessness. And then in a voice dropped to a whisper, "Can you?"
She did not answer him. There was something horrible to her in
that low-spoken question, something that yet possessed for her a
species of evil fascination that restrained her from open revolt.
He waited for a while, his eyes so immovably fixed upon hers that
she had a mild wonder if they were lidless--as the eyes of a
serpent.
Pages:
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218