on me was astonishng: once again was I inspired to turn my slip into a move.
“Matter?” I cried. “Can’t you see what’s the matter; couldn’t you see when I came in? Drink’s the matter! I came in drunk, and now I’m mad. I can’t stand it; I’m not in a fit state. Do you know nothng of me? Have they told you nothing? I’m the only man that was saved from the Lady Jermyn, the ship that was burned to the water’s edge with every soul but me. My nerves are in little ends. I came down here for peace and quiet
without fear of a rude reopening of my every wound.
I hurried my dressing in the hope of our breakfasting together. I knocked at the next door, and, receiving no answer, even ventured to enter, with the same idea. He was not there. He was not in the coffee-room. He was not in the hotel.
I broke my