DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER
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cannot tell you, Coroner, the causeOf death of Elenor Murray, not untilMy chemical analysis is finished.Here is the woman's heart sealed in this jar,I weighed it, weight nine ounces, if she hadA hemolysis, cannot tell you nowWhat caused the hemolysis. Since you sayShe took no castor oil, that you can learnFrom Irma Leese, or any witness, stillA chemical analysis may showThe presence of ricin,--and that she tookA dose of oil not pure. Her throat betrayedSlight inflammation; but in brief, I waitMy chemical analysis. Let's excludeThe things we know and narrow down the facts.She lay there by the river, death had comeSome twenty hours before. No stick or stone,No weapon near her, bottle, poison box,No bruise upon her, in her mouth no dust,No foreign bodies in her nostrils, neckWithout a mark, no punctures, cuts or scarsUpon her anywhere, no water in lungs,No mud, sand, straws or weeds in hands, the nailsClean, as if freshly manicured. AgainNo evidence of rape. I first examinedThe genitals _in situ_, found them sound.The girl had lived, was not a virgin, stillHad temperately indulged, and not at allIn recent months, no evidence at allOf conjugation willingly or not,The day of death. But still I lifted outThe ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus,The vagina and vulvae. Opened upThe mammals, found no milk. No pregnancyExisted, sealed these organs up to testFor poison later, as we doctors knowSometimes a poison's introduced _per vaginam_. I sealed the brain up too, shall make a testOf blood and serum for urea; deathComes suddenly from that, you find no lesion,Must take a piece of brain and cut it up,Pour boiling water on it, break the brainTo finer pieces, pour the water off,Digest the piece of brain in other water,Repeat four times, the solutions mix together,Dry in an oven, treat with ether, at lastThe residue put on a slide of glassWith nitric acid, let it stand awhile,Then take your microscope--if there's ureaYou'll see the crystals--very beautiful!A cobra's beautiful, but scarce can killAs quick as these. Likewise I have sealed upThe stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines,So many poisons have no microscopicAppearance that convinces, opium,Hyoscyamus, belladonna fool us;But as the stomach had no inflammation,It was not chloral, ether took her off,Which we can smell, to boot. But I can findStrychnia, if it killed her; though you knowThat case in England sixty years ago,Where the analysis did not discloseStrychnia, though they hung a man for givingThat poison to a fellow. To recurI'm down to this: Perhaps a hemolysis--But what produced it? If I find no ricinI turn to streptococcus, deadly snake,Or shall I call him tiger? For I thinkThe microscopic world of living thingsIs just a little jungle, filled with tigers,Snakes, lions, what you will, with teeth and claws,The perfect miniatures of these monstrous foes.Sweet words come from the lips and tender handsLike Elenor Murray's, minister, nor knowThe jungle has been roused in throat or lungs;And shapes venene begin to crawl and eatThe ruddy apples of the blood, ejectTheir triple venomous excreta inThe channels of the body. There's the heart,Which may be weakened by a streptococcus.But if she had a syncope and fellShe must have bruised her body or her head.And if she had a syncope, was held up,Who held her up? That might have cost her life:To be held up in syncope. You knowYou lay a person down in syncope,And oftentimes the heart resumes its beat.Perhaps she was held up until she died,Then laid there by the river, so no bruise.So many theories come to me. But again,I say to you, look for a man. Run downAll clues of Gregory Wenner. He is dead--Loss of a building drives to suicide--The papers say, but still it may be trueHe was with Elenor Murray when she died,Pushed her, we'll say, or struck her in a wayTo leave no mark, a tap upon the heartThat shocked the muscles more or less obscureThat bind the auricles and ventricles,And killed her. Then he flies away in fear,Aghast at what he does, and kills himself.Look for a man, I say. It must be true,She went so secretly to walk that morningTo meet a man--why would she walk alone? So while you hunt the man, I'll look for ricin,And with my chemicals end up the search.I never saw a heart more beautiful,Just look at it. We doctors all agreedThis Elenor Murray might have lived to ninetyExcept for jungles, poison, sudden shock.I take my bottle with the heart of ElenorAnd go about my way. It beat in France,It beat for France and for America,But what is truer, somewhere was a manFor whom it beat! * * * * * When Irma Leese, the Aunt of Elenor Murray,Appeared before the coroner she toldOf Elenor Murray's visit, of the morningShe left to walk, was never seen again.And brought the coroner some letters sentBy Elenor from France. What follows nowIs what the coroner, or the jury heardFrom Irma Leese, from letters drawn--besideThe riffle that the death of Elenor MurraySent round the life of Irma Leese, which spreadTo Tokio and touched a man, the sonOf Irma Leese's sister, dead Corinne,The mother of this man in Tokio.
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