I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, which
dreadful alternative I should adopt.
dreadful alternative I should adopt.
Kipling - Poems
when that row on the Jakko road
turned up. 'Says she'll die before she ever speaks to you again. "
I groaned and turned over to the other side.
"Now you've got your choice, my friend. This engagement has to be broken
off; and the Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you. Was it broken
through D. T. or epileptic fits? Sorry I can't offer you a better
exchange unless you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word and I'll
tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies'
Mile. Come! I'll give you five minutes to think over it. "
During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly the
lowest circles of the Inferno which it is permitted man to tread on
earth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself faltering
through the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair.
I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, which
dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering
in a voice that I hardly recognized, "--They're confoundedly particular
about morality in these parts. Give 'em fits, Heatherlegh, and my love.
Now let me sleep a bit longer. "
Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-driven
I) that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the past
month.
"But I am in Simla," I kept repeating to myself. "I, Jack Pansay, am in
Simla and there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman to
pretend there are. Why couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never did
her any harm. It might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I'd
never have come back on purpose to kill her. Why can't I be left
alone--left alone and happy? "
It was high noon when I first awoke, and the sun was low in the sky
before I slept--slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too
worn to feel further pain.
Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morning
that he had received an answer from Mr.
turned up. 'Says she'll die before she ever speaks to you again. "
I groaned and turned over to the other side.
"Now you've got your choice, my friend. This engagement has to be broken
off; and the Mannerings don't want to be too hard on you. Was it broken
through D. T. or epileptic fits? Sorry I can't offer you a better
exchange unless you'd prefer hereditary insanity. Say the word and I'll
tell 'em it's fits. All Simla knows about that scene on the Ladies'
Mile. Come! I'll give you five minutes to think over it. "
During those five minutes I believe that I explored thoroughly the
lowest circles of the Inferno which it is permitted man to tread on
earth. And at the same time I myself was watching myself faltering
through the dark labyrinths of doubt, misery, and utter despair.
I wondered, as Heatherlegh in his chair might have wondered, which
dreadful alternative I should adopt. Presently I heard myself answering
in a voice that I hardly recognized, "--They're confoundedly particular
about morality in these parts. Give 'em fits, Heatherlegh, and my love.
Now let me sleep a bit longer. "
Then my two selves joined, and it was only I (half crazed, devil-driven
I) that tossed in my bed, tracing step by step the history of the past
month.
"But I am in Simla," I kept repeating to myself. "I, Jack Pansay, am in
Simla and there are no ghosts here. It's unreasonable of that woman to
pretend there are. Why couldn't Agnes have left me alone? I never did
her any harm. It might just as well have been me as Agnes. Only I'd
never have come back on purpose to kill her. Why can't I be left
alone--left alone and happy? "
It was high noon when I first awoke, and the sun was low in the sky
before I slept--slept as the tortured criminal sleeps on his rack, too
worn to feel further pain.
Next day I could not leave my bed. Heatherlegh told me in the morning
that he had received an answer from Mr.
