Had to go into hospital myself. A
nervous breakdown. Three months I had of it. They were very decent to
me, and when I came out they got me a berth as ship's doctor on one of
the smaller transatlantic liners. I got hold of things again and pulled
them my way. But I didn't want to look back. My illness had made a
definite break--I wanted to keep free."
Cosgrave nodded. He had been playing with his food, and now a look of
disgust and weariness came into his thin face.
"I can understand that. I suppose it would have been better if I'd left
well alone, and not written at all."
"It wouldn't have made much difference," Stonehouse said: "A week or two.
Sooner or later we'd have run into one another. People who've been at
school together always seem to. And you and I especially."
"I don't know. I was always a poor specimen--I never meant much to you."
Stonehouse looked up at him and smiled. This time it was an unmistakable
smile and rather charming, like a warm line of light falling across his
face.
"I was awfully glad to get your letter," he said. "I'd begun to worry
rather."
Cosgrave flushed up.
"That's--that's about the nicest thing that's happened to me for a long
time. I'd probably cry with pleasure--only I don't seem able to feel
much anyway. It's those damn bugs, I suppose!"
"I'll pull you out of that."
"Got me diagnosed already?"
"It's not very difficult."
"I suppose--I suppose you're an awful swell, Stonehouse.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234