This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. “What I mean is. " Pain was stabbing him, now here, now there; pain was real enough; but he could not establish as a fact in his throbbing brain the presence of his aunt in the doorway. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. He fixed it. He had been frozen in time at age forty-two. Maybe later. Mrs.
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