The other shook his head with gravely troubled look.
“He is only here when it becomes impossible to keep him elsewhere.”
“Is he insane? imbecile? what is he?”
“Not the first, not the second. I cannot answer the third question.”
CHAPTER X
She sitteth in a silence of her own;
Behind her, on the ground, a red rose lies;
Her thinking brow is bent, nor doth arise
Her gaze from that shut book whose word unknown
Her firm hands hide from her; there all alone