Dick.
I always said you were melodramatic. I never heard anything so transpontine.
Mrs. Crowley.
And the end of it, what will be the end?
Alec.
The end is death in some fever-stricken swamp, obscurely, worn out by exposure and ague and starvation. And the bearers will seize my gun and my clothes and leave me to the jackals.
Mrs. Crowley.
Don't. It's too horrible.
Alec.
Why, what does it matter? I shall die standing up. I shall go the last journey as I have gone every other.