calendar probably contains but two more leaves. And then of this death-white, choking night which has come and strangled his fortitude, and sent him out to seek a port amid its depressing billows.
“My weekly letter from home failed to come,” he told her, “and I was pretty blue. I knew I had to go before long; and I was tired of waiting, I went out and began morphine at every drug store where they would sell me a few tablets. I got thirty-six quarter-grains, and was going back to my room and take them, but I met a queer fellow on a bridge, who had a new idea.”
Goodall fillips a little pasteboard box upon the table, “I put ’em all together in there.”
Miss Rosa, being a woman, must raise the lid, and gave a slight shiver at the innocent-looking triturates. “Horrid things! but, those little, white bits—they could never kill one!”
