“‘So you will leave me the morphine when you get off at Leicester?’
“‘No.’
“He struck the window-sill impatiently with the palm of his hand.
“‘And why not?’
“I hesitated an instant.
“‘Because, upon the whole, I do not care to be the instrument of your self-destruction.’
“‘Don’t be a fool!’ he retorted. ‘Speak honestly, and say that because of a little moral shrinking on your part, you prefer to leave a human being to a death of agony. I don’t like physical pain. I am like a woman about it, but it is better than hanging, or life-imprisonment, or any jury finding.’
“I became exhortatory.
“‘Why not face it like a man and take your chances? Who knows—’
“‘I have had my chances,’ he returned. ‘I have squandered more chances than most men ever lay eyes on, and I don’t care. If I had the opportunity, I’d squander them again. It is the only thing chances are made for.’