As hope bade him live and as his inability to forget her made it
impossible for him to put his thoughts upon work, he became a drunkard.
He might not have done so had he been you or I; but he was only Craddock,
and whether or not you find his offence beyond the extent of palliation,
the fact is that he drank himself penniless and entirely beyond the power
of his own will to resume respectability.
Naturally his friends abandoned him.
"Craddock is making a beast of himself," said one who had formerly sat at
his table. "To give him money merely accelerates the process."
"When a man loses all self-respect, how can he expect to retain the
sympathy of other people?" queried a second.
"I never thought much of a man who would go to the gutter on account of a
woman. It shows a lack of stamina," observed a third.
All of which was true. But particular cases have exceptionally aggravating
circumstances. Special combinations may produce results which, although
seemingly under human control, are almost, if not quite, inevitable.
One day Craddock's wife came back to him. In Paris she had made a
discovery.
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