He let the paper fall between his wide-spread knees, the blood flowing down from his face and seeming to leave him leaner.
"Charley—Charley—darling!"
"My—poor old man!" he said in a voice that might have been his echo in a cave.
"He—his heart must have give out on him, Charley, while he slept in the night."
"My—poor—old—man!"
She stretched out her hand timidly to his shoulder.
"Charley—boy—my poor boy!"
He reached up to cover her timid touch, still staring ahead, as if a mental apathy had clutched him.
"He died like—he—lived. Gad—it's—tough!"
"It—it wasn't your fault, darling. God forgive me for speaking against the dead, but—everybody knows he was a hard man, Charley—the way he used to beat you up instead of showing you the right way. Poor old man, I guess he didn't know—"