“I was sick of the make-believe. "It's a fine idea, my child, but you mustn't do it. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. The opiate has done its duty. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire.
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