The chair is in the veranda. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. Well, kill me. “What do you mean?” she asked. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. It's infernally provoking.
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