That's a man's work, Simon. This isn't."
"But it is a man's work," I would declare, "to devote himself to the
woman he loves and not to leave her helpless, a stranger in a strange
land."
"I wish you would go, Simon. I do wish you would go!" she would say
wearily. "It's the only favour I've ever asked you in my life."
Man-like, I looked within myself to find the reason for these earnest
requests. In casting off my jester's suit had I also divested myself of
the power to be a decently interesting companion? Had I become merely a
dull, tactless, egotistical bore? Was I, in simple, naked, horrid fact,
getting on an invalid's delicate nerves? I was scared of the new picture
of myself thus presented. I became self-conscious and made particular
efforts to bring a little gaiety into our talk; but though she smiled
with her lips, the cloud, whatever it was, hung heavily on her mind, and
at the first opportunity she came back to the ceaseless argument.
In despair I took her nurse into my confidence.
"She is right," said the nurse.
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