"Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. The servants had left the room. . She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. No one spoke to her. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. I was worried.
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