She waited, and she kept Paul near to her.
All summer long William's letters had a feverish tone; he seemed unnatural and intense.

Sometimes he was exaggeratedly jolly, usually he was flat and bitter in his letter.
"Ah," his mother said, "I'm afraid he's ruining himself against that creature, who isn't worthy of his love--no, no more than a rag doll." He wanted to come home.

The midsummer holiday was gone; it was a long while to Christmas.

He wrote in wild excitement, saying he could come for Saturday and Sunday at Goose Fair, the first week in October.
"You are not well, my boy," said his mother, when she saw him.

She was almost in tears at having him to herself again.
"No, I've not been well," he said.