Hair of the Dog

WOMAN CAN PUSH HIM OVER THE BRINK TOO EASILY, ALAS . . . Excerpt "Areterio-what was that you said?" "-sclerosis." "Bunky?" "Yes." "Our Bunky?" "Yes." "God!" "Sic transit gloria mundi. A rare case. Poor chap went out like a light. Just like a light." "But I mean- Bunky, of all people! Up in his studies, young, well off, good-looking, everything to live for!" "Ave at que vale, old boy." "I can't believe it." "Here today, gone tomorrow." "God!" Up until now, Lorenzo Gissing had thought about death, when he thought about it at all, which was practically never, as one of those things which one didn't think about. The frequency of its occurrence among the lower classes made it especially impossible. None of his relatives had ever died, to his knowledge. Nor had any of his good chums. In fact, he had never once looked upon a human corpse. The entire subject, therefore, was dismissed as pointless, morbid and not a little scatological, no more to be worried over than the other diseases that came as direct sequels to unclean living habits. So the news of Bunky Frith's rather pell-mell departure from this world affected Lorenzo as few things had. His reaction was one of total disbelief followed by an angry sense of betrayal. He took to his rooms. He refused to eat. He slept little and then fitfully, leaping to the floor from time to time and cursing, knocking the blue china about, and gazing at his image in the mirror.