"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Have you not tired of sadness and pain?” 81 She thought she could hear tears in his voice but would not look at him. After all, he had the means of setting this tormenting doubt at rest. And I have no doubt at all that there is a great deal of money in the case.
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