Frank Danby

“ It's impossible. To snuff me out—me! The powers know better than that. The chorus can be dismissed, but not the leading comedian. I play a part for which there is no understudy."
"Don't agitate yourself." A morphia injection had not long been administered. "Lie still—lie perfectly still, my dear fellow. You know I am doing all that is possible."
"I am the idol of my mother's heart; the expression is jejune, perhaps. That's the temperature. Delete it, but the fact remains. I have critics, but no enemies. You're a fool, Ince, a fool." ”

“ Ince said it to persuade you to have a nurse; he does not think Kito and I are enough for you."
"Lamotte? You know what I did?"
"Yes. You won't think of it when you are stronger. You are going to get quite well. I could not live without you; you know that, heart of my heart, of my innermost heart." It was her only outburst. She went on quietly: her words must reach his inner ear, convince him. "Pierre Lamotte has nothing to do with your illness. ”

“ Notwithstanding his egotism and whimsicalities Keightley Wilbur had many friends, people who had penetrated the shallow surface and found beneath a warm heart, a quick understanding, an almost unparalleled generosity.
That day, that worst bad day, Ince was hardly two hours away from the house. In the afternoon pulse and temperature were worse, breathing and pain no better. On this visit Keightley asked for more morphia, and forgot to inquire what the public were saying about his illness. ”

“ Stand where I can see you. You won't look calm if I am worse. Why, you are smiling, happy! You look younger than ever! Turn it off again quickly. It's all right. I'm not going to die at all. I am going to sleep." He turned on his side. "Good night, darling. You're quite right: I only drowned a dog. I'll get my dreams right now."
He was asleep before she got back to the bedside: the effect of the morphia had almost worn off, and it was genuine sleep this time—the turning-point of his illness. ”

“ They take liberties with me and my new silk jackets. They give me cold. The morphia is working now, Ince. I am getting more comfortable, breathing easier. A good drug. Is it in the papers—about my illness, I mean? What do they say?"
"All the papers have it: there have been so many inquiries we've been obliged to put up a bulletin."
"Sinking?"
Ince laughed. "Oh no, we haven't come to that yet. I hope we never shall. I wish I could persuade you to have a nurse."
"Kito is better than forty nurses. ”

“ She put her soft hand upon his forehead.
"I am thirsty all the time."
"That is only the morphia: it has nothing to do with the illness. Don't worry about that. There is plenty of lemonade, and it has been well iced." Again she held the cup to his lips.
"You know why it is, why it all is?" His face twitched, and he caught her hand with the cup.
"Try to rest again. I'll sit here. You need not speak; just open your mouth when you want a drink."
"If I hadn't killed Pierre Lamotte. ..." ”

“ You got them from nurses and governesses and at school." Her coolness calmed and soothed him. It could not be true that he was dying, that he deserved to die.
"I was his jury, judge, and his executioner."
"One man in his time plays many parts." ”

“ She put all her strength into the answer—her mother anguish and her unshed tears. "Your brain is not going; it is confused by morphia. You caught a chill, neglected it, pneumonia and pleurisy came on. One thing has nothingpj to do with the other—Pierre Lamotte and your illness." ”