He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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