‘I’ll handle her better alone. ” He ruminated for a minute. He glanced up. " "Oh, God!" cried Jack, "she does not know me. "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. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. There was a long silence between them.
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