“This is mere nonsense, mere tongue-tied fear!” she said. Jack was lying so still, for a moment she panicked. "The feeling is dead within my breast. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. She was glad to join in the stream of hurrying homeward workers that was now welling out of a thousand places of employment, and to imitate their driven, preoccupied haste. The boy had all kinds of opportunity; but it's the old story of father making it too easy. “Are there others like you?” “Yes.
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