"The attack was bad," he said. "I'm not denying it was murderously bad.
And all the harder on you because, but for the one defaulting organ, your
heart, you're as sound as a bell. You're a well enough man to put up a
good fight; and that, you see, cuts both ways, be danged to it."
"A chain is no stronger than its weakest link.--You know as well as I do
the Indian appointment will never be gazetted."
"There you have me, Sir Charles, loath though I am to admit as much. I'd
be a liar if I denied it would not."
"How long do you give me then? Months, or only weeks?"
"That depends in the main on yourself, in as far as I can presume to
pronounce. With care"--
"Which means sitting still here"--
"It does."
Charles Verity raised his shoulders the least bit.
"Not good enough, McCabe," he declared, "not good enough. There are rites
to be duly performed, words to be said, which I refuse to neglect. Oh,
no, don't misunderstand me. I don't need professional help to accomplish
my dying.
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