It was as if he were furious with his wife for being ill, furious with Maria, with life, and death itself.

In reality he was torn almost to madness with anxiety.

"Slip on something so you won't catch cold," said he, in his irritated voice.

"I don't want another one down." Maria ran to her closet and pulled out a little pink wrapper.

"Oh, father, is mother very sick ?" she whispered again.
"Yes, she is very sick.