He did
not eat, and I myself ate hardly at all. I did not in my heart believe that
any dash for freedom could save him. The chase would be swift, the
capture certain. But better anything than this passive, meek, miserable
waiting. I told Soames that for the honor of the human race he ought to
make some show of resistance. He asked what the human race had ever
done for him. "Besides," he said, "can't you understand that I'm in his
power? You saw him touch me, didn't you? There's an end of it. I've no
will. I'm sealed."
I made a gesture of despair. He went on repeating the word
"sealed." I began to realize that the wine had clouded his brain. No
wonder! Foodless he had gone into futurity, foodless he still was. I
urged him to eat, at any rate, some bread. It was maddening to think that
he, who had so much to tell, might tell nothing. "How was it all," I
asked, "yonder? Come, tell me your adventures!"
"They'd make first-rate 'copy,' wouldn't they?"
"I'm awfully sorry for you, Soames, and I make all possible
allowances; but what earthly right have you to insinuate that I should
make 'copy,' as you call it, out of you?"
The poor fellow pressed his hands to his forehead.
"I don't know," he said. "I had some reason, I know. I'll try to
remember. He sat plunged in thought.
"That's right. Try to remember everything. Eat a little more bread.
What did the reading-room look like?"
"Much as usual," he at length muttered.
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