"I have been blind," continued Leroux, in a forced, monotonous voice.
"That Mira has not--deceived me, in the worst sense of the word, is
in no way due to my care of her. I recognize that, and I accept my
punishment; for I deserved it. But what now overwhelms me is the
knowledge, the frightful knowledge, that in a sense I have misjudged
her, that I have remained here inert, making no effort, thinking her
absence voluntary, whilst--God help her!--she has been"...
"Once again, Leroux," interrupted Dr. Cumberly, "I must ask you not to
take too black a view. I blame myself more than I blame you, for having
failed to perceive what as an intimate friend I had every opportunity to
perceive; that your wife was acquiring the opium habit. You have told me
that you count her as dead"--he stood beside Leroux, resting both hands
upon the bowed shoulders--"I have not encouraged you to change that
view. One who has cultivated--the--vice, to a point where protracted
absences become necessary--you understand me?--is, so far as my
experience goes"...
"Incurable! I quite understand," jerked Leroux. "A thousand times better
dead, indeed."
"The facts as I see them," resumed the physician, "as I see them, are
these: by some fatality, at present inexplicable, a victim of the opium
syndicate met her death in this flat.
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