“Don’t be childish, Annabel. She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. 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.
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