He killed him.
Jaffery threw a couple of logs on the fire--the ship-logs that Adrian loved, and the sea-salts, barium, strontium and what-not, gave green and crimson and lavender flames.
"I've seen as much suffering in my time as any man living," he said.

"A war-correspondent does.

He sees samples of every conceivable sort of hell.

But this sample I haven't struck before and it's the worst of the lot.

My God! and only the day before yesterday I took him to be married." "It was fifteen months ago, Jaff, and since then you've plucked hairs out of Prester John's beard, or been entertained by a Viceroy of China, which comes to the same thing.