At last, in a wondering, dazed way, she exclaimed: "Have you, in all your life, Stephen, ever heard anything like it ?" Carlin shook his head.

The letter had given him the facts, and no additional details could alter the situation.

It was as if a dead body were lying in the next room awaiting interment; when the time came he would step in and look at it, ask the hour of burial, and step out again.
"I came as soon as I'd read your letter," he said slowly examining one by one his rough fingers bunched together in his lap.

"We got chuck-a-block on Second Avenue or I'd have been here before.

Why didn't you let me know sooner ?" As he spoke he shifted his gaze to the wrinkles in her throat--a new anxiety rising as he noticed how many more had gathered since he saw her last.
"She wouldn't have it, and I want to tell you that you've got to be careful, as it is.