But my dear child," he went on, "your fingers are as cold as ice.

You look at me so strangely, too.

Alas! you have not the affectionate disposition of your dear mother.

One would scarcely believe that we have been parted for more than a week." "For more than a week," she repeated, under her breath.
"Stoop down, my dear.

I must kiss your forehead--there! Now bring up a chair to my side.