"Oh, the bliss--the sheer bliss of relief from pain!" he murmured. "Half an hour ago I was in hell--quite so. Now...." He drew away one of his hands, and spread it out slowly at arm's length, smiling at it. It was odd and painful to see the huge man thus reproduce exactly the gesture of a baby who gazes with wonder at its own hand.
"Now," he went on, "my very hands are happy. It's a pleasure--a thrilling joy just to move my fingers--quietly, like that...."
"You aren't feverish now, are you?" asked Sophy. She put her hand on his forehead. It was dry and warm, but not feverish.
"No--no. Not in the least," he said, and again that fretful look crossed his face. But the next instant he was rambling on.
"Yes--bliss just to be--just to breathe. To stretch out--so." He elongated his limbs under the bedclothes, stretching luxuriously like a great cat. "If I were a Titan, by Jove!--I could fill up space just by stretching myself like that. Bum fancy, eh?" He laughed softly, and took several sips of champagne--then lighted a cigarette.
"Ought you to smoke?" faltered Sophy. Somehow, the more gay and garrulous he grew, the more depressed and anxious she felt. She did not trust Gaynor. What was this sinisterly benevolent medicine that could change a man from an angry, brutal invalid, into a huge, merry child as it were, chirping at the toys of fancy?
"Do you know anything about epilepsy, Sophy? Bless you, you darling! don't look so frightened. _I_ haven't got epilepsy--but there was that Russian chap--Dostoievsky--who had it. He speaks of a wonderful moment--a luminous moment that comes just before an attack--before the fit, you know. He says you seem to understand everything, and know everything, and be in harmony with everything--as if there were no more time. Well--I have not only one moment like that but hundreds, thousands--when I'm as I am now--after a collapse like that. By God! It's worth the suffering. That's what Dostoievsky said. He said that moment was worth all the rest of his life. He was right.... Yes, he was right."
Sophy took one of his excited hands and held it in both her own.
"Cecil--dear Cecil," she said. "Please, for my sake--consult a doctor about that medicine Gaynor gives you."