Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. There were no mourners. Something in his tone pinched her heart. She flew up from her stool and faced the door. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. In an instant, she turned on him. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. She pulled at his tee shirt again, wishing to feel his naked chest upon hers.
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