his end. His health had suffered during this strenuous time. He had married well after fifty. . . .
Dear, lovable, much-to-be-pitied old man, my heart went out to him; I was determined to do everything I could to help. I owed him much for counsel, sympathy and kindness, to say nothing of medical attendance and food besides, at a time, too, when I believed myself a complete failure and thought my life was ruined. England, my family, all that I had been accustomed to seemed utterly remote; I had cut myself off; I had tumbled into quite another world, and the only friend I had, the only being I trusted, even loved as well, was the old German morphine victim.
Meanwhile, it had been very wonderful to me to see an irritable, savage old man change in a few minutes into a kindly, genial, tender-hearted being, and I began to feel an absorbing curiosity about this fine white powder labelled "Majendie." I invariably now rubbed in the dose, finding with increasing difficulty a clear space of skin in the poor worn old body. I watched the change steal over him. It seemed to me pure magic. It began more and more to fascinate me.
