Місіс Деллоуей

           Hehadactuallytalkedofkillinghimselftohiswife,quiteagirl,aforeigner,wasn’tshe?Didn’tthatgiveheraveryoddideaofEnglishhusbands?Didn’toneoweperhapsadutytoone’swife?Wouldn’titbebettertodosomethinginsteadoflyinginbed?Forhehadhadfortyyears’experiencebehindhim;andSeptimuscouldtakeDr.Holmes’swordforit—therewasnothingwhateverthematterwithhim.AndnexttimeDr.HolmescamehehopedtofindSmithoutofbedandnotmakingthatcharminglittleladyhiswifeanxiousabouthim.

           Humannature,inshort,wasonhim—therepulsivebrute,withtheblood-rednostrils.Holmeswasonhim.Dr.Holmescamequiteregularlyeveryday.Onceyoustumble,Septimuswroteonthebackofapostcard,humannatureisonyou.Holmesisonyou.Theironlychancewastoescape,withoutlettingHolmesknow;toItaly—anywhere,anywhere,awayfromDr.Holmes.

           ButReziacouldnotunderstandhim.Dr.Holmeswassuchakindman.HewassointerestedinSeptimus.Heonlywantedtohelpthem,hesaid.Hehadfourlittlechildrenandhehadaskedhertotea,shetoldSeptimus.

           Sohewasdeserted.Thewholeworldwasclamouring:Killyourself,killyourself,foroursakes.Butwhyshouldhekillhimselffortheirsakes?Foodwaspleasant;thesunhot;andthiskillingoneself,howdoesonesetaboutit,withatableknife,uglily,withfloodsofblood—bysuckingagaspipe?Hewastooweak;hecouldscarcelyraisehishand.