The evenings were dulcet and soft. " Three persons only were left in the room. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. 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.
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