She felt much better. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. 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 you did not want me to talk of it,’ she told him with characteristic insouciance, ‘you should not have mentioned the matter to me. The other lay unconscious in a heap. She was a schizophrenic, got locked up later in some sort of state mental ward. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate.
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