His mother nursed him; he told her about it.
"And now I should have done with them all," she said quietly.
"I will, mother." She covered him up.
"And don't think about it," she said--"only try to go to sleep.

The doctor won't be here till eleven." He had a dislocated shoulder, and the second day acute bronchitis set in.

His mother was pale as death now, and very thin.

She would sit and look at him, then away into space.

There was something between them that neither dared mention.