“In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. And then, for the first time, Wood noticed a small stream of blood coursing slowly down her cheek. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. I have never wept since that day.
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