"You have both," replied Wood, fervently. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. Why open my mouth if there might not be a need for it when all’s said?’ Melusine acknowledged the logic of this. She surveyed accommodation that seemed at first merely austere, and became more and more manifestly inadequate as the moments fled by. It had ever been her policy, much to Melusine’s relief, for she was apt to complain that it only made her mad and there was nothing she could do about it. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind.
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