Blake nodded. "I see."
Parks continued:
"At first it made him drunk, and he slept. But now it seems only to numb his senses. I hear him all through the night muttering—muttering. I hear him cursing himself—cursing everything, everybody—cursing her—that woman—then calling to her—calling—calling—It's horrible!"
Blake again nodded.
"I had heard," he said. "But I didn't dream it was as bad as this…. It is too late, then, you think—too late to do anything? I had thought that if we should wait—until she was tired—as such as she must tire sooner or later—"
"Too late?" repeated Park. "It has always been too late. It was too late from the first. I was with him, you know."
"Yes—abroad. I had forgotten."
Parks exclaimed, almost fiercely:
"I wish to God I could! He was a man, sir—a man!" Then, in quick transition: "I beg your pardon. But I was very fond of him." He placed the resignation that he had written fair in the center of the desk. He turned to go.
Blake called after him: