When one has arrived at looking upon a dead man as a
Case, there is little fear of the ordinary human weakness which makes
us tremble in the awful presence of death.
Presently steps were heard outside. The doctor rose and left the
room--but returned in a few minutes.
"The _croque-morts_ have come," he said. "They are with the nurse
engaged upon their business. It seems revolting to the outside world.
To them it is nothing but the daily routine of work. By-the-way, I took
a photograph of his lordship in the presence of the nurse.
Unfortunately--but look at it----"
"It is the face of the dead man"--Lord Harry turned away. "I don't want
to see it. I cannot bear to see it. You forget--I was actually present
when--"
"Not when he died. Come, don't be a fool. What I was going to say was
this: The face is no longer in the least like you. Nobody who ever saw
you once even would believe that this is your face. The creature--he
has given us an unconscionable quantity of trouble--was a little like
you when he first came. I was wrong in supposing that this likeness was
permanent. Now he is dead, he is not in the least like you. I ought to
have remembered that the resemblance would fade away and disappear in
death.
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