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<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">so dangerous, so destructive, so hiful — and he waited for his blood to melt with phiion for
her. but not tonight. Tonight his innermost heart was hard and cold as ice. The </p>
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very danger and hifulness of her, which <i>had so pricked his senses, now made him colder. He disliked her at her tricks. He saw her
once too often.</i>Her and all women. Bah, </p>
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<p align="left"><img src="http://www.witing.co/1c8a9d780af47bfb687cc0348f2c_308c1954-010101010001/V/" alt="" border="0">
the love game! And the whiskey that was to help in the game! He had drowned himself once too often in whiskey and in love. Now he
floated like a corpse in both, with a </p>
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cold, hostile eye. And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no longer drown. Nothing would have pleased him better
than to hil his senses </p>
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melting and swimming into oneness with the dark. But impossible! Cold, with a white fury inside him, he floated wide eyed and apart as a
corpse. He thought of the gentle love of </p>
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<p>his first married years, and became only whiter and colder, set in more intense obstinacy. A wave of revulsion lifted him.
He became aware that he was deadly antagonistic to the </p>
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landlady, that he disliked his whole circumstances. A cold, diabolical consciousness detached itself from his state of
semi-intoxication. </p>
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<p>
“Is it pretty much the same out there in India?” he asked of the doctor, suddenly. The doctor started, and attended to him on his own
level. </p>
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<BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 13px;">“Probably,” he answered. “It is worse.” “Worse!” exclaimed Aaron Sisson. “How’s
that?” “Why, because, in a way the people of India have an </p>
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easier time even than the people of England. Because they have no responsibility. The British Government takes the responsibility. And
the people have nothing to do, except </p>
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their bit of work — and talk perhaps about national rule, just for a pastime. ” “They have to earn their living?” said
Sisson. </p>
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“Yes,” said the little doctor, who had lived for some years among the colliers, and become quite familiar with them. “Yes, they
have to earn </p>
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their living —<U>and then no more. That’s why the British Government is the worst thing possible for them. It is the worst thing
possible. And not because it is a </U>bad </p>
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government. Really, it is not a bad government. It is a good one — and they know it — much better than they would make
for themselves, probably. But for that reason it is so very </p>
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bad.” the little oriental laughed a hi, smaning laugh. His eyes were very bright, dilated, completely black. He was looking into
the ice- </p>
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<p align="right"<B>style="font: 12px;">blue, pointed eyes of Aaron Sisson. They were both intoxicated — but grimly so. They looked
at each other in elemental difference. The whole room was now </B> attending to this new </p>
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<p align="right">conversation: which they all accepted as serious. For Aaron was considered a special man, a man
of peculiar understanding, even </p>
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though as a rule he said little. “If it is a good government, doctor, how can it be so bad for the people?” said the landlady.
The doctor’s eyes quivered for the fraction of a second, </p>
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<p align="right" style="font: 16px;">.</p>
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