“Ask me anything you like!”
He looked at me with the sad smile on his lips, and the kindly interest in his soft brown eyes.
“You have already told me,” he said, “that you have never—to your knowledge—tasted opium in your life.”
“To my knowledge,” I repeated.
“You will understand directly why I speak with that reservation. Let us go on. You are not aware of ever having taken opium. At this time, last year, you were suffering from nervous irritation, and you slept wretchedly at night. On the night of the birthday, however, there was an exception to the rule—you slept soundly. Am I right, so far?”
“Quite right!”
“Can you assign any cause for the nervous suffering, and your want of sleep?”
“I can assign no cause. Old Betteredge made a guess at the cause, I remember. But that is hardly worth mentioning.”
“Pardon me. Anything is worth mentioning in such a case as this. Betteredge attributed your sleeplessness to something. To what?”
“To my leaving off smoking.”