"She has had no pain—or very little; no hæmorrhages. That, too, misled us."
"There are many cases like your wife's," the doctor said. "Simply a gradual wasting away and loss of strength."
"I can't reason it out, doctor. It isn't fair."
He shifted in his chair, knocking the ash from his cigar.
"If you were a doctor, Mr. Jevons, you would come across a lot of things you couldn't reason out—that aren't fair. But they happen."
"Yes," I said. "I suppose, like everybody, we think our own case the only important one in the world. But it does not make it any easier to know there are others suffering as we suffer. I am not fond of seeking that kind of sympathy. I say it's a damned unfair thing all round."
"I'm afraid, Mr. Jevons, that Nature cares nothing for the individual."
The doctor threw away his cigar and held out his hand.
"I'll look in every day, Mr. Jevons—but there isn't much I can do."
"How long?" I faltered, as he went toward his horse and buggy.