“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder.
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