"Don't get to it—mama, please! Don't rock yourself that way! You'll get yourself dizzy! Don't, ma; don't!"
"Outside—my boy—the holler—O God! in my ears all my life! My boy—the papers—the swords—Aylorff—Aylorff—"
"'Shh-h-h—mama—"
"It came through his heart out the back—a blade with two sides—out the back when I opened the door; the spur in his face when he fell, Shila—the spur in his face—the beautiful face of my boy—my Aylorff—my husband before him—that died to make free!" And fell back, bathed in the sweat of the terrific hiccoughing of sobs.
"Mama, mama! My God! What shall we do? These spells! You'll kill yourself, darling. I'm going to take you back, dearie—ain't that enough? I promise. I promise. You mustn't, mama! These spells—they ain't good for a young girl like Selene to hear. Mama, 'ain't you got your own Shila—your own Selene? Ain't that something? Ain't it? Ain't it?"
Large drops of sweat had come out and a state of exhaustion that swept completely over, prostrating the huddled form in the chair.
"Bed—my bed!"
With her arms twined about the immediately supporting form of her daughter, her entire weight relaxed, and footsteps that dragged without lift, one after the other, Mrs. Horowitz groped out, one hand feeling in advance, into the gloom of a room adjoining.
"Rest! O my God! rest!"
"Yes, yes, mama; lean on me."