It's
unreasonable
of that woman to
pretend there are.
pretend there are.
Kipling - Poems
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. Mannering, and that, thanks to
his (Heatherlegh's) friendly offices, the story of my affliction had
traveled through the length and breadth of Simla, where I was on all
sides much pitied.
"And that's rather more than you deserve," he concluded, pleasantly,
"though the Lord knows you've been going through a pretty severe mill.
Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse phenomenon. "
I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been much too good to me already,
old man," said I; "but I don't think I need trouble you further. "
In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten the
burden that had been laid upon me.
With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellion
against the unreasonableness of it all.
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. Mannering, and that, thanks to
his (Heatherlegh's) friendly offices, the story of my affliction had
traveled through the length and breadth of Simla, where I was on all
sides much pitied.
"And that's rather more than you deserve," he concluded, pleasantly,
"though the Lord knows you've been going through a pretty severe mill.
Never mind; we'll cure you yet, you perverse phenomenon. "
I declined firmly to be cured. "You've been much too good to me already,
old man," said I; "but I don't think I need trouble you further. "
In my heart I knew that nothing Heatherlegh could do would lighten the
burden that had been laid upon me.
With that knowledge came also a sense of hopeless, impotent rebellion
against the unreasonableness of it all.
