I soon lost myself in the
problem and did not notice a corner of the rug gradually slipping
down towards the floor.
"I'll do it!" I cried at last, making a sudden dive towards the
table. But the ironical corner of the rug had reached the
ground. I stepped on it, tripped, and instinctively caught the
table to steady myself. The table, a rickety gueridon,
overbalanced, and away rolled my uncorked phial of prussic acid
and fell into a hundred pieces on the tessellated floor.
"_Solvitur_," said I, grimly, "_ambulando_."
Looking back now, I am inclined to treat myself tenderly.
Whether I should have drunk the poison, if the accident had not
occurred, I cannot say. At the moment of my rush I intended to
do so. After the catastrophe, which I attributed to the curse of
ineffectuality that pursued me, I must confess that I was glad.
Not that life looked more attractive than before, but that the
decision had been taken out of my hands. I could not go about
the shops of Verona buying prussic acid or revolvers or metres of
stout rope.
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