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The Story of Charles Strange. Vol. 2 (of 3)
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"Is it apoplexy?" I asked, lifting my head.
"No, I should say not."
"Then what is it?"
"I cannot tell; it may be the heart."
"Are you sure he is dead? Beyond all hope?"
"He is indeed."
A disagreeable doubt rushed over my mind, and I spoke on the impulse of the moment. "Has he come by his death fairly?"
The surgeon paused before he answered. "I see no reason, as yet, to infer otherwise. There are no signs of violence about him."
I cannot describe my feelings as we stood looking down at him. Never had I felt so before. What was I to do next?—how act? A hazy idea was making itself heard that some weighty responsibility lay upon me.
Just then a cab dashed up to the door; we heard it all too plainly in the hushed silence; and someone knocked and rang. Lennard went down to open it, and I told him to send in the policeman and fetch another doctor. Looking over the banisters I saw George Coney come in.
"No, I should say not."
"Then what is it?"
"I cannot tell; it may be the heart."
"Are you sure he is dead? Beyond all hope?"
"He is indeed."
A disagreeable doubt rushed over my mind, and I spoke on the impulse of the moment. "Has he come by his death fairly?"
The surgeon paused before he answered. "I see no reason, as yet, to infer otherwise. There are no signs of violence about him."
I cannot describe my feelings as we stood looking down at him. Never had I felt so before. What was I to do next?—how act? A hazy idea was making itself heard that some weighty responsibility lay upon me.
Just then a cab dashed up to the door; we heard it all too plainly in the hushed silence; and someone knocked and rang. Lennard went down to open it, and I told him to send in the policeman and fetch another doctor. Looking over the banisters I saw George Coney come in.
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