What do you think?"
"Heaven knows what effect it will have," said I, wearily, for I was
very, very tired. "But why, my poor Lola, have you wasted your love on a
shadow like me?"
She answered after the foolish way of women.
I have not heard from either Dale or Lady Kynnersley. A day or two ago,
in reply to a telegram to Raggles, I learned that Dale had lost the
election.
This, then, is the end of my _apologia pro vita mea_, which I began with
so resonant a flourish of vainglory. I have said all that there is to be
said. Nothing more has happened or is likely to happen until they put me
under the earth. Oh, yes, I was forgetting. In spite of my Monte Cristo
munificence, poor Latimer has been hammered on the Stock Exchange. Poor
Lucy and the kids!
I shall have, I think, just enough strength left to reach Mentone--this
place is intolerable now--and there I shall put myself under the care of
a capable physician who, with his abominable drugs, will doubtless begin
the cheerful work of inducing the mental decay which I suppose must
precede physical dissolution.
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