asked. 'I think he's dead,' replied the woman. Then, without leaving
off her work, 'Jim,' she shouted, 'are you there?' No answer came
from the inner room. 'He's a goner,' she said, wringing out a
stocking."

"But surely," said Dr. Florret, "you don't admire a woman for being
indifferent to the death of her husband?"

"I don't admire her for that," replied Washburn, "and I don't blame
her. I didn't make the world and I'm not responsible for it. What I
do admire her for is not pretending a grief she didn't feel. In
Berkeley Square she'd have met me at the door with an agonised face
and a handkerchief to her eyes.

"Assume a virtue, if you have it not," murmured Dr. Florret.

"Go on," said Washburn. "How does it run? 'That monster, custom, who
all sense doth eat, of devil's habit, is angel yet in this, that to
the use of actions fair and good he gives a frock that aptly is put
on.' So was the lion's skin by the ass, but it showed him only the
more an ass. Here asses go about as asses, but there are lions also.
I had a woman under my hands only a little while ago. I could have
cured her easily. Why she got worse every day instead of better I
could not understand. Then by accident learned the truth: instead of
helping me she was doing all she could to kill herself. 'I must,
Doctor,' she cried. 'I must. I have promised. If I get well he will
only leave me, and if I die now he has sworn to be good to the
children.' Here, I tell you, they live--think their thoughts, work
their will, kill those they hate, die for those they love; savages if
you like, but savage men and women, not bloodless dolls."