“You wouldn’t. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. If the boy had done anything wrong back there in the States, his would be the brand of conscience to pay him out in full. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "Or trying to be," answered the doctor. " "Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment.
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