and my first home. The glow of the bottles, the big coloured bottles! Do you remember how the light shone on the mahogany drawers? The little gilt letters! Ol Amjig, and S'nap! I can remember it all—bright and shining—like a Dutch picture. Real! And yesterday. And here we are in a dream. You a man—and me an old woman, George. And poor little Teddy, who used to rush about and talk—making that noise he did—Oh!"
She choked, and the tears flowed unrestrained. She wept, and I was glad to see her weeping. . . .
She stood leaning over the bridge; her tear-wet handkerchief gripped in her clenched hand.
"Just an hour in the old shop again—and him talking. Before things got done. Before they got hold of him. And fooled him.
"Men oughtn't to be so tempted with business and things. . . .
"They didn't hurt him, George?" she asked suddenly.
For a moment I was puzzled.
"Here, I mean," she said.
"No," I lied stoutly, suppressing the memory of that foolish injection needle I had caught the young doctor using.
"I wonder, George, if they'll let him talk in Heaven? . . ."
She faced me. "Oh! George, dear, my heart aches, and I don't know what I say and do. Give me your arm to lean on—it's good to have you, dear, and lean upon you. . . . Yes, I know you care for me. That's why I'm talking. We've always loved one another, and never said anything about it, and you understand, and I understand. But my heart's torn to pieces by this,