"
She protested, but faintly. He went to the doctor's office.
"She must go south at once," he began, after looking at Howard steadily and
keenly. "Nothing can save her life. That may prolong it."
Howard seemed not to understand.
"She must go to-morrow or she'll be gone forever in ten days."
"Impossible," Howard said in a dull, dazed tone.
"At once, I tell you--at once."
"Impossible," Howard repeated. He was saying to himself, "And only this
afternoon I wished I were free and wondered how I could free myself." He
laughed strangely.
"Impossible," he said again. And again he laughed. The room swam around. He
stood up. "Impossible!" he said a fourth time, almost shouting it. And he
struck the doctor full in the face, reeled and fell headlong to the floor.
When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a lounge, the doctor's
assistant standing beside him.
"I must go to her," he exclaimed and sat up. He saw the doctor a few feet
away, holding a cloth odorous of arnica to his cheek. Howard remembered and
began, "I beg your pardon,"--The doctor interrupted with: "Not at all. I've
had many queer experiences but never one like that." But Howard had ceased
to hear. He was staring vacantly at the floor, repeating to himself, "And I
wished to be free.
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