"Let Miss Kendal take you away.

And you go, Lucy: this sight is too terrible for your eyes." Lucy, inarticulate with nervous fear, nodded and tottered towards the door of the museum; but Widow Anne refused to be lifted to her feet.
"My boy is dead," she wailed; "my boy Sid is a corp as I saw him in my dream.

In the coffin, too, cut to pieces--" "Rubbish! rubbish!" interrupted Braddock, peering into the depths of the packing case.

"I can see no wound." Mrs.Bolton leaped to her feet with an agility surprising in so aged a woman.

"Let me find the wound," she screamed, throwing herself forward.
Hope caught her back and forced her towards the door.