He passed hastily up and down the room.

"You seem somewhat ill," I said, in the undecided tone of partial interrogatory.
He paused, and passed his long thin fingers over his forehead.

"I am indeed ill," he said, slowly, and with that quavering, deep-drawn breathing, which is so indicative of anguish, mental and physical.
"I am weak as a child, weak alike in mind and body, even when I am under the immediate influence of yonder drug." And he pointed, as he spoke, to a phial, labelled "Laudanum," upon a table in the corner of the room.
"My dear sir," said I, "for God's sake abandon your desperate practice: I know not, indeed, the nature of your afflictions, but I feel assured that you have yet the power to be happy.

You have, at least, warm friends to sympathize with you.

But forego, if possible, your pernicious stimulant of laudanum.