His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. . . ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. 'T is better, with wine, to extinguish the light, Than live always, in darkness, without it! "How long may it be since that boy was found in the way Mrs. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. . He'd have enough to do to protect himself, without attending to you. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched.
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