Alresca's Fate

Here I might proceed to a technical dissertation upon his physical
state, but it would be useless. A cloud of long words will not cover
ignorance; and I was most emphatically ignorant. At least, such
knowledge as I had obtained was merely of a negative character. All
that I could be sure of was that this was by no means an instance of
mysterious disease. There was no disease, as we understand the term.
In particular, there was no decay of the nerve-centres. Alresca was
well--in good health. What he lacked was the will to live--that
strange and mystic impulse which alone divides us from death. It was,
perhaps, hard on a young G.P. to be confronted by such a medical
conundrum at the very outset of his career; but, then, the Maker of
conundrums seldom considers the age and inexperience of those who are
requested to solve them.

Yes, this was the first practical proof that had come to me of the
sheer empiricism of the present state of medicine.

We had lived together--Alresca and I--peaceably, quietly, sadly. He
appeared to have ample means, and the standard of luxury which existed
in his flat was a high one. He was a connoisseur in every department
of art and life, and took care that he was well served. Perhaps it
would be more correct to say that he had once taken care to be well
served, and that the custom primarily established went on by its own
momentum. For he did not exercise even such control as a sick man
might have been expected to exercise. He seemed to be concerned with
nothing, save that occasionally he would exhibit a flickering
curiosity as to the opera season which was drawing to a close.