He still stood motionless, his eyes upon the floor.

I knew that he was thinking of my father.
"Dead ?" he asked, looking at me inquisitively.
"He is dead," I answered.
"And my man--did he give you the letter ?" "Yes; he is dead also." "Dead?
I thought he was dead," he repeated, slowly and thoughtfully.

"I, too, am dead--long dead." The words were separated by considerable pauses, and he faced me almost sternly as he finished speaking them.

I stood staring at him, dumb with surprise.
"Why--how did you come here ?" He sank into a chair, exhausted with the effort it had cost him to speak.

My presence seemed to irritate and annoy him.