There was a laugh somewhere.
“Look at the night-shirt!”
“How long is she dead now?”
They left him then, and he could breathe a moment. They put into his stocking some things they had brought—simple things—at the last a spiral of pink-and-white candy.
But there was no laughter—only silence. Once more they were doing their duty. And once more—for only the second sad time in his long life—old Liebereich understood.
“It ain’t much,” said a pitying one.
“It’s enough,” said another, crossly.
The last one said—to comfort both:
“He’ll never know no better.”
Then they came and looked at him again.