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"
Go
to
hell
,
"
he
answered
briefly
.
Dirk
Stroeve
,
giving
up
his
work
entirely
,
nursed
Strickland
with
tenderness
and
sympathy
.
He
was
dexterous
to
make
him
comfortable
,
and
he
exercised
a
cunning
of
which
I
should
never
have
thought
him
capable
to
induce
him
to
take
the
medicines
prescribed
by
the
doctor
.
Nothing
was
too
much
trouble
for
him
.
Though
his
means
were
adequate
to
the
needs
of
himself
and
his
wife
,
he
certainly
had
no
money
to
waste
;
but
now
he
was
wantonly
extravagant
in
the
purchase
of
delicacies
,
out
of
season
and
dear
,
which
might
tempt
Strickland
’
s
capricious
appetite
.
I
shall
never
forget
the
tactful
patience
with
which
he
persuaded
him
to
take
nourishment
.
He
was
never
put
out
by
Strickland
’
s
rudeness
;
if
it
was
merely
sullen
,
he
appeared
not
to
notice
it
;
if
it
was
aggressive
,
he
only
chuckled
.
When
Strickland
,
recovering
somewhat
,
was
in
a
good
humour
and
amused
himself
by
laughing
at
him
,
he
deliberately
did
absurd
things
to
excite
his
ridicule
.
Then
he
would
give
me
little
happy
glances
,
so
that
I
might
notice
in
how
much
better
form
the
patient
was
.
Stroeve
was
sublime
.
But
it
was
Blanche
who
most
surprised
me
.
She
proved
herself
not
only
a
capable
,
but
a
devoted
nurse
.
There
was
nothing
in
her
to
remind
you
that
she
had
so
vehemently
struggled
against
her
husband
’
s
wish
to
bring
Strickland
to
the
studio
.
She
insisted
on
doing
her
share
of
the
offices
needful
to
the
sick
.
She
arranged
his
bed
so
that
it
was
possible
to
change
the
sheet
without
disturbing
him
.
She
washed
him
.
When
I
remarked
on
her
competence
,
she
told
me
with
that
pleasant
little
smile
of
hers
that
for
a
while
she
had
worked
in
a
hospital
.
She
gave
no
sign
that
she
hated
Strickland
so
desperately
.
She
did
not
speak
to
him
much
,
but
she
was
quick
to
forestall
his
wants
.
For
a
fortnight
it
was
necessary
that
someone
should
stay
with
him
all
night
,
and
she
took
turns
at
watching
with
her
husband
.
I
wondered
what
she
thought
during
the
long
darkness
as
she
sat
by
the
bedside
.
Strickland
was
a
weird
figure
as
he
lay
there
,
thinner
than
ever
,
with
his
ragged
red
beard
and
his
eyes
staring
feverishly
into
vacancy
;
his
illness
seemed
to
have
made
them
larger
,
and
they
had
an
unnatural
brightness
.
"
Does
he
ever
talk
to
you
in
the
night
?
"
I
asked
her
once
.
"
Never
.
"
"
Do
you
dislike
him
as
much
as
you
did
?
"
"
More
,
if
anything
.
"
She
looked
at
me
with
her
calm
gray
eyes
.
Her
expression
was
so
placid
,
it
was
hard
to
believe
that
she
was
capable
of
the
violent
emotion
I
had
witnessed
.
"
Has
he
ever
thanked
you
for
what
you
do
for
him
?
"
