I’ve—dreads. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. But—if you are a friend of Mr. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. I hate what I have to do to survive. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. "I am very happy to be of service to you. He had a wild impulse to shout.
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