For I see him feverish from one debauch, but equally feverish with the expectation of another.
With his wife it was another story, and I can see her now full of anxiety and dread, with no relief and no hope, except, dreadful as it may seem, his death! For then, to use her own expression, "she would know the worst." Poor fellow! the last time I saw him he was nearing the end.

In an underground room I sat by his bedside, and a poor bed it was! As he lay propped up by pillows he was working away at his beloved chess, writing chess notes, and solving and explaining problems for very miserable payments.
I knew the poverty of that underground room; and was made acquainted with the intense disappointment of both husband and wife when letters were received that did not contain the much-desired postal orders.

And so passed a genius; but a dipsomaniac! A man of brilliant parts and a fellow of infinite jest, who never did justice to his great powers, but who crowded a continuous succession of tragedies into a short life.

I am glad to think that I did my best for him, even though I failed.

He has gone! but he still has a place in my affections and occupies a niche in the hall of my memory.
I very much doubt whether I am able to forget any one of the pieces of broken humanity that have companied with me.