But it is a big price. I warn
the young men who come to see me not to begin opium smoking. It is so
easy. You think you will try, to find out what it is like; and then you
will stop. But you do not stop. Four weeks--six weeks--and it is finished
for you. You are on the road where I am. That was the way with me. It is
the way with every one who starts on that road and goes not back before
the turn. Better not start, for the dreams are too good at first."
His resignation to the chains forged by himself seemed to Angela the
saddest part of all. He was beyond help, and knew it, did not even think
of it.
She had a strange burning behind her eyes, as she listened, though she was
not inclined to cry.
"It is awful," she whispered. "Such days--such nights--such years.
But--you do not lie here always?"
"Most of the time," he answered, the little spark of physical contentment
beginning to dim in his eyes already. "I am very weak. I do not walk,
except when I go down the passage to cook a little coffee once a day. Or
sometimes I crawl out in the sun. But soon I come back. I can stand only a
few minutes. I am too light in the head, when I get on my feet. When I was
young I was tall and large. But a man shrinks small after the opium gets
him.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294