” “I’ll frame it—when I get it. A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. He looked at her, hurt. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. If only to say goodbye. I tell you what, Mr. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home.
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