Elizabeth’s eyes dwelt on him with a deep considering look.
“Yes, that’s true,” she said. “One has to find oneself. But it is easier to find oneself in clear country than in a fog. This place is not good for you, David. When I said you wanted a change, I didn’t mean just for a time—I meant altogether. Why don’t you go right away—leave it all behind you, and start again?”
He looked at her as if he might be angry, if he were not too tired.
“Because I won’t run away,” he said, with his voice back on the harsh note which had become habitual.
There was a pause. Elizabeth heard her own heart beat. The room was getting darker. A log fell in the fire.
Then David laughed bitterly.
“That sounded very fine, but it’s just a flam. The truth is, not that I won’t run away, but that I can’t. I’ve not got the energy. I’m three parts broke, and it’s all I can do to keep going at all. I couldn’t start fresh, because I’ve got nothing to start with. If I could sleep for a week it would give me a chance, but I can’t sleep. Skeffington has taken me in hand now, and out of three drugs he has given me, two made me feel as if I were going mad, and the third had no effect at all. I’m full of bromide now. It makes me sleepy, but it doesn’t make me sleep. You don’t know what it’s like. My brain is drunk with sleep—marshy with it, water-logged—but there’s always one point of consciousness left high and dry—tortured.”
“Can’t you sleep at all?”
“I suppose I do, or I should be mad in real earnest. Do I look mad, Elizabeth?”
She looked at him. His face was very white, except for a flushed patch high up on either cheek. His eyes were bloodshot and strained, but there was no madness in them.