I wish you'd get sick-leave, and go off a while."
Ashe shook his head again. He felt that if Maurice went on talking to
him he should lose his self-command. He must get away; yet he could not
bear to hurt his friend. He turned toward Maurice and held out his
hand.
"Dear Maurice," he said, "don't be hurt; but I can't talk with you. I
must be alone. I am upset, and not myself. It is not that I don't trust
you, you know; but there are things that a man has to fight out for
himself."
The other stopped, and regarded him closely.
"All right, Phil," he said. "I understand. If you've got a fight with
the devil on hand nobody can help you. I only wish I could."
He wrung the hand of Ashe, and added:
"Good-by. I'm always fond of you, old fellow; and you know that when
there is a place that I can help there's nothing I wouldn't do for
you."
Ashe tried to answer, but he could not command his voice. He could only
return the warm pressure of Wynne's hand, and then, miserable and
hopeless, go on his way to his conflict with the arch fiend.
Once in his chamber Ashe fastened the door, drew down the shades, and
lighted the gas.
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