"I beg your pardon," said the Doctor, as his driver drew up by the
sidewalk, "but I've some news for you. I've just been to see our
poor friend ----. Of course I was too late. He was gone in a
flash."
"What! dead?"
"As Pharaoh! In an instant, just as I said. You see, the rupture
took place in the descending arch of--"
"But, Doctor!"
"It's a queer story. Am I keeping you from your friends? No?
Well, you see she--that woman I spoke of--had written a note to him
based on what I had told her. He got it, and dropped in his
dressing-room, dead as a herring."
"How could she have been so cruel, knowing his condition? She
might, with woman's tact, have rejected him less abruptly."
"Yes; but you're all wrong. By Jove! she ACCEPTED him! was willing
to marry him!"
"What?"
"Yes. Don't you see? It was joy that killed him. Gad, we never
thought of THAT! Queer, ain't it? See here, don't you think you
might make a story out of it?"
"But, Doctor, it hasn't got any moral."
"Humph! That's so. Good morning.
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