I walked up and down the vast cold room of the marble palazzo,
arraying before me in overwhelming numbers the arguments for
selfdestruction. On a table in the middle of the room stood a
phial of prussic acid which I had procured long before in London,
it being a conviction of mine that every man ought to have ready
to hand a sure means of exit from the world. I paused many times
in front of the little blue phial. One lift of the hand, one
toss of the head, and all would be over. At last I extracted the
cork, and the faint smell of almonds reached my nostrils. I
recorked the phial and lit a cigarette. This I threw away half
smoked and again approached the table of death. I began to feel
a strong natural disinclination to swallow the stuff. "This,"
said I, "is sheer animal cowardice." I again uncorked the phial.
A new phase of the matter appeared to me. "It is the act of a
craven to shirk the responsibilities of life. Can you be such a
meanspirited creature as not even to have the courage to live?"
"No," said I, "I have a valiant spirit," and I set down the
bottle.
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