ut," he said in a low
voice. Then he laughed. "I've got to stick it. It may be amusing to see
how it all pans out. I suppose the very last passion left us is
curiosity."

"There's also the unconquerable soul," said I.

"You're very comforting," said he. "If I were in your place, I'd leave
a chap like me to the worms." He drew a long breath. "I suppose I'll
pull through all right."

"Of course you will," said I.

"I feel tons better, thanks to you, already."

"That's right," said I.

He fumbled for the box of cigarettes on the bed. Instinctively I tried
to help him, but I was tied to my fixed chair. It was a trivial
occasion; but I have never been so terrified by the sense of
helplessness. Just think of it. Two men of clear brain and, to all
intents and purposes, of sound bodily health, unable to reach an object
a few feet away. Boyce uttered an impatient exclamation.

"Get hold of that box for me, like a good chap," he said, his fingers
groping wide of the mark.

"I can't move," said I.

"Good Lord! I forgot."

He began to laugh. I laughed, too. We laughed like fools and the tears
ran down my cheeks. I suppose we were on the verge of hysterics.

I pulled myself together and gave him a cigarette from my case. And
then, stretch as I would, I could not reach far enough to apply the
match to the end of the cigarette between his lips. He was unable to
lift his head. I lit another match and, like an idiot, put it between
his fingers. He nearly burned his moustache and his bandage, and would
have burned his fingers had not the match--a wooden one--providentially
gone out. Then I lit a cigarette myself and handed it to him.

The incident, as I say, was trivial, but it had deep symbolic
significance. All symbols in their literal objectivity are trivial.
What more trivial than the eating of a bit of bread and the sipping
from a cup of wine? This trumpery business with the cigarette
revolutionised my whole feelings towards Boyce. It initiated us into a
sacred brotherhood. Hitherto, it had been his nature which had reached
out towards me tentacles of despair. My inner self, as I have tried to
show you, had never responded. It was restrained by all kinds of
doubts, suspicions, and repulsions. Now, suddenly, it broke through all
those barriers and rushed forth to meet him. My death in life against
which I had fought, I hope like a brave man (it takes a bit of
fighting) for many years, would henceforth be his death in