She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. That would be fun, eh?" "I wonder if you know how kind you are? You are like somebody out of a book. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. "I don't deserve it," he said, at length; "but I would have risked a thousand deaths to enjoy this moment's happiness.
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