"Sit down then," said he, "and put your hands on this cushion. No!—palms up!"
Balsamo gaped at them a long time, rubbing his chin. Then he rose, adjusted the transparent glass ball so that the light came through it on to Adam's hands, sat down again and resumed his stare.
"Do you want to know everything?" he asked.
"Yes—of course."
"Everything?"
"Yes." A trace of weakness in this affirmative.
"Well, you mustn't expect to live much after fifty-two. Look at the line of life there." He spoke in such a casual, even antipathetic tone that Adam was startled.
"You've had success. You will have it continuously. But you won't live long."
"What have I to avoid?" Adam demanded.
"Can't avoid your fate. You asked me to tell you everything."