But, here they are. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. His gaze remained steady on the old dame’s face, as he thought about it. She laughed a little bitterly.
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