Well then, let's try to be quite unemotional about this stranger
called Marcella that we're both keen about. If she did happen to finish
up--out of sheer cussedness and desire to make a sensation, next week,
you'd be the victim of a ghost, Louis! I'd simply have to be back to see
what you're up to! You know what a managing sort of person Marcella is,
don't you?"
He made a desperate effort to be unemotional, and presently he said,
very decidedly:
"I know now what I'm going to do, old girl! I absolutely refuse to allow
illness to go on! There! That's a challenge to the Almighty, if He likes
to take it--"
She laughed gently, with tears in her eyes.
"I feel helpless. And I'm fed up with feeling helpless. That
socialization of knowledge has got to begin, or I'll--Oh. I don't know!
Look at the idiocy of it! Here we are in the twentieth century, and
people are dying like flies all over the show. Why, there's no room for
houses because there's so much room needed for grave-yards! And--even
if they don't die, they're ill, most of them. And I'm not going to have
it!"
"Louis! What are you going to do?" she said, staring at him, taken out
of her fear by his enthusiasm. "I've never seen you like this before."
"No. I never have been. But this business of illness has just come and
touched me on the raw, you see! You ought not to be ill.
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