They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a matter of course. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. After a little further discourse the old man took his departure. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. "I know the house well; by the same token that it's a flash crib. And this is not France, you understand.
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