" At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. I never met your sister in Paris, but I heard about her more than once. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through.
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