“I am afraid that you are making a mistake. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. He had certain orders from which on no account was he to deviate.
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