IX
On the platform stood Arabella. She looked him up and down.
“You’ve been to see her?” she asked.
“I have,” said Jude, literally tottering with cold and lassitude.
“Well, now you’d best march along home.”
The water ran out of him as he went, and he was compelled to lean against the wall to support himself while coughing.
“You’ve done for yourself by this, young man,” said she. “I don’t know whether you know it.”
“Of course I do. I meant to do for myself.”
“What—to commit suicide?”
“Certainly.”