Presently she looked into his face with a changed expression,--the
anxiety of a mother that sees her child suffering.
You are not well,--she said.
I am never well,--he answered.--His eyes fell mechanically on the
death's-head ring he wore on his right hand. She took his hand as if it
had been a baby's, and turned the grim device so that it should be out of
sight. One slight, sad, slow movement of the head seemed to say, "The
death-symbol is still there!"
A very odd personage, to be sure! Seems to know what is going on,
--reads books, old and new,--has many recent publications sent him, they
tell me, but, what is more curious, keeps up with the everyday affairs of
the world, too. Whether he hears everything that is said with
preternatural acuteness, or whether some confidential friend visits him
in a quiet way, is more than I can tell. I can make nothing more of the
noises I hear in his room than my old conjectures. The movements I
mention are less frequent, but I often hear the plaintive cry,--I observe
that it is rarely laughing of late;--I never have detected one articulate
word, but I never heard such tones from anything but a human voice.
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