It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. But she wished she could put the thing she had done in some way to them so that it would not hurt them so much as the truth would certainly do. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. Nature is a mother; her sympathies have always been feminist, and she has tempered the man to the shorn woman. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish.
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