Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. ‘Never mind that now. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. All that she had ever loved were gone, except Sebastian. We were two people with a craving. Let's get one idea into our heads. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love. She was, by certain signs, charged with anger, but she saw upon the faces of these two young fools the look of angels and an ineffable kindness breathed upon her withered heart.
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