Dick found a glass of liqueur brandy in his hand.
"As far as I can gather," he said, coughing above the spirit, "you call it
decay of the optic nerve, or something, and therefore hopeless. What is my
time-limit, avoiding all strain and worry?"
"Perhaps one year."
"My God! And if I don't take care of myself?"
"I really could not say. One cannot ascertain the exact amount of injury
inflicted by the sword-cut. The scar is an old one, and--exposure to the strong
light of the desert, did you say?--with excessive application to fine work? I
really could not say?"
"I beg your pardon, but it has come without any warning. If you will let me,
I'll sit here for a minute, and then I'll go. You have been very good in
telling me the truth. Without any warning; without any warning. Thanks."
Dick went into the street, and was rapturously received by Binkie.
"We've got it very badly, little dog! Just as badly as we can get it. We'll go
to the Park to think it out."
They headed for a certain tree that Dick knew well, and they sat down to think,
because his legs were trembling under him and there was cold fear at the pit of
his stomach.
"How could it have come without any warning? It's as sudden as being shot.
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