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219 “Some in Europe, a few down south, none here. ’ Saling coughed. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. " "But I'm a poor man.
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