Then, somehow, I began to understand: a great lump came in my throat,
and taking hold of one of Fee's cold, clammy hands, I commenced stroking
and patting it without a word.
His fingers were twitching so I could hardly hold them, and he talked
very fast,--almost as if he couldn't stop himself.
"Don't tell them of this, Jack," he begged, in that sharp gasping voice,
"_don't_ tell them! they wouldn't understand--they'd worry--and poor
Phil would be wretched. I know what this is to him,--poor old fellow! I
see the misery in his face from day to day, and I've tried--so hard--to
keep everything in--and be cheerful--so he shouldn't guess--until I
thought I _should_ go _mad_! Oh, think of what this _means_ to me,
Jack! College, profession, hopes, ambitions--gone _forever_--nothing
left but to lie here--for the rest of my life--a useless hulk--a
cumberer of the ground. Only seventeen, Jack, and I may live to be
eighty--like _this_! never to go about--never to walk again. Oh, if
I might _die_!"--his voice got shrill,--"if God would _only_ let me
die! I've always been a poor useless creature,--and now, _now_, of
what good am I in the world? Nothing but a burden and a care.
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