"Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling. ” The note of his own voice exasperated him. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. ” “Perhaps,” he said, “you had better let me have your key, and I will go up and explore. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork.
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