Wood in a sharp tone. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Oh God! my limbs fail me. The woman shrugged her shoulders. Petals!. Out of an old family album: here was the very comparison that had eluded him. “I’m not gentle.
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