"Death!" he shouted with a delirious rage of grief, ill-befitting a medical man.
"But what illness is it that has brought her to death?"
"Death!" he repeated.
"You do not understand me; I want to know of what...?"
"Of death.—How can I tell you whether it is shame, or jealousy, or wounded pride, or grief, or disappointed love, that has killed her? A strange catalogue of symptoms! No, no—we know nothing—nothing but useless details."
"What! Doctors!"
"I tell you we know nothing—a little on the surface that is all."
"And this, what is this?"
"A sudden attack of inflammation—meningitis perhaps."