Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. But she veiled her feelings. The doctor expected her to seize upon the subtle inference that there was something furtive, even criminal, in the manner the patient set this obligation upon humanity at large, to look after him in the event of his death. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. "Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. . More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his.
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