"My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. They negotiated several steps, and then the stair turned a corner. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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