"He does not care a straw for what I advise, not one straw. Why should he? How can I tell him to be sober when I have been a beast all my life myself? How can I advise him? That's where it is! It is that that now kills me. Advise! Why, when I speak to him he treats me like a child."
"He fears that you are too weak, you know: he thinks that you should not be allowed to talk."
"Nonsense! he knows better; you know better. Too weak! what signifies? Would I not give all that I have of strength at one blow if I could open his eyes to see as I see but for one minute?" And the sick man raised himself up in his bed as though he were actually going to expend all that remained to him of vigour in the energy of a moment.
"Gently, Scatcherd; gently. He will listen to you yet; but do not be so unruly."
"Thorne, you see that bottle there? Give me half a glass of brandy."
The doctor turned round in his chair; but he hesitated in doing as he was desired.
"Do as I ask you, doctor. It can do no harm now; you know that well enough. Why torture me now?"
"No, I will not torture you; but you will have water with it?"
"Water! No; the brandy by itself. I tell you I cannot speak without it. What's the use of canting now? You know it can make no difference."
Sir Roger was right. It could make no difference; and Dr Thorne gave him the half glass of brandy.