" Just then, the infant began to sob piteously. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. His voice now had lost its ironies. '—'They can't,' says I. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. Yet I think that he will do it. But this only incensed the assailing party the more. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. Anna was singing as she used to sing.
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