In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. But … he must want to live in order that the inclination to repeat this incident may not recur. He smothered a laugh. He rose slowly and extended it. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. Wood rushed instantly to meet them. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. You are a detective?" "Yes. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force.
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