“At first,” Bertrand went on, “the smell of it made me so sick and faint that I could not get the glass to my lips.”
Again Gene nodded.
“But I felt that I must have it. So, holding it off at arm’s length at first, I lifted it quickly, meaning to dash it down at a swallow.”
“Then what happened?” asked Skelding eagerly.
“The glass fell from my fingers every time before I could touch it to my lips. I can’t understand why it happened, but it fell and was broken on the floor.”
“Then you were saved?”
“Yes, though I was forced at last to roam about through the city for hours. Toward morning a strange calmness came over me, and I knew all desire for that stuff had passed away. I believe it has left me forever.”
“In which case, you have Frank Merriwell to thank that you are not now a murderer and a maniac.”
Defarge stared and lifted his hand.