It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. And Mother trusted him. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. ‘It is the life I know. “How dare you!” she panted, with her world screaming and grimacing insult at her. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. On the contrary. I thought that he was dead.
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