She tore away the fastenings that confined the dress about her throat, and began to tear the skin with her finger nails, until the blood commenced to gush out.
“Plaxico,” exclaimed Demar indignantly, “I am sorry to say that your conduct on this awful occasion is to me inexplicable, and, I might say, inexcusable. Are you going to sit here with folded hands and see my darling die, without making an effort to save her?”
“By Heaven! I would gladly give my life to save her!”
“Why not give her an opiate?”
“Because I am afraid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I say.”
“Doctor Plaxico, for Heaven’s sake have pity on me, and quit speaking in riddles!”
“I am not dealing in riddles—I do not know what is the matter with your wife.”
“Can you not suggest some harmless drug that would afford temporary relief?”