“Oh, I can’t bear it—I can’t bear it!”
Frank looked at him thoughtfully, wondering what he had better do.
“I tried to kill myself in the night.”
“D’you think that would have done anyone much good?’
“I despise myself. I feel I haven’t the right to live; but I hadn’t the pluck to do it. People say it’s cowardly to destroy one’s self: they don’t know what courage it wants. I couldn’t face the pain. And yet she did it so easily—she just walked along the tow-path and threw herself in. And then, I don’t know what’s on the other side. After all, it may be true that there’s a cruel avenging God who will punish us to all eternity if we break His laws.”
“I wouldn’t high-falute if I were you, Basil. Supposing you came into the next room and went to bed. You’d be all the better for a few hours’ sleep.”
“D’you think I could sleep?” cried Basil.
“Come on,” said Frank, taking his arm.
He led him into the bedroom, and, Basil unresisting, took off his clothes and made him lie down. Then he got his hypodermic syringe.
“Now give me your arm and stop still. I’m only going to prick you—it won’t hurt.”