“Surely it could,” I protested. “Won't they let you see her?”
He shook his head.
“But that's barbarous! Think what she must be suffering.”
“Oh, no. She understands. It is I who suffer.”
“Needlessly,” I cried. “It can be arranged. You must see her. Four months! Will you let me arrange it?”
“It is useless.”
I believe I took him by the shoulder and shook him. “Don't be a fool,” I bade him savagely. “I tell you, you shall see her. At once. To-morrow.”
He turned upon me eyes like those of an animal that pleads dumbly against torture. “It cannot be,” he said.
“Why?”
“She is dead,” he whispered.