“I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. He would have sent the Virgin Mary to heal the baby. Come along with us in the morning. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. For nothing they kiss. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. She had to exert tremendous energy not to sniff the air for his blood.
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