And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no
longer drown. Nothing would have pleased him better than to feel
his senses 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 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 landlady, that
he disliked his whole circumstances. A cold, diabolical consciousness
detached itself from his state of semi-intoxication.

"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.

"Probably," he answered. "It is worse."

"Worse!" exclaimed Aaron Sisson. "How's that?"

"Why, because, in a way the people of India have an 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 their bit of work--and talk perhaps about
national rule, just for a pastime."

"They have to earn their living?" said Sisson.