” “It’s dreadful for you to be here,” he said, indicating the yellow presence of the first fog of the year without, “but your aunt told me something of what had happened. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. ‘Certainly, if I was a nun, I know of many good names. ” Inwardly, she laughed at the idea of him trying to beat on her, flailing, his arms akimbo. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. "You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than there is any need to show. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated.
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