Look at yesterday! Out in the blazing sun
from morning till night--I didn't get back from the second round till
nine. At ten a confinement that keeps me up till three. From three till
dawn I toss and turn, far too weary to sleep. By the time six o'clock
struck--you of course were slumbering sweetly--I was in hell with tic.
At seven I could stand it no longer and got up for the chloroform
bottle: an hour's rest at any price--else how face the crowd in the
waiting-room? And you call that splendour?--luxurious ease? If so, my
dear, words have not the same meaning any more for you and me."
Mary did not point out that she had said nothing of the kind, or that he
had set up an extreme case as typical. She tightened her lips; her big
eyes were very solemn.
"And it's not the work alone," Richard was declaring, "it's the place,
wife--the people. I'm done with 'em, Mary--utterly done! Upon my word,
if I thought I had to go on living among them even for another
twelvemonth . . ."
"But PEOPLE are the same all the world over!" The protest broke from her
in spite of herself.
"No, by God, they're not!" And here Richard launched out into a diatribe
against his fellow-colonists: "This sordid riff-raff! These hard, mean,
grasping money-grubbers!" that made Mary stand aghast. What could be the
matter with him? What was he thinking of, he who was ordinarily so
generous? Had he forgotten the many kindnesses shown him, the warm
gratitude of his patients, people's sympathy, at the time of his
illness? But he went on: "My demands are most modest.
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