"I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. God had never answered any of her prayers. Some day older people, perhaps, will trouble to understand younger people, and there won’t be these fierce disruptions; there won’t be barriers one must defy or perish. Only a son’s another story. Time after time he reminded her of how powerless she would be without him, how unkind the world was towards single women. “How are you feeling?” She asked. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. " "Of course—of course," returned Wood, hastily; "anything's better than that. .
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