"Yes, of course there is."
"Well, and what is it, Fritz? dear Fritz, tell me what it is." The question was breathed with actual pain.
"Dost thou mean what is in thy hump—this thing?" and Fritz laid his hand very softly on her shoulders.
"Yes."
"Why, any one knows that. Bones, of course; I can feel them."
"Bones?" she gasped.
"Yes; bones, and flesh, and skin, and all that kind of thing."
Violet's eyes distended; an anguish crept into them that appalled even Fritz. She drew the spotted book quickly over to her, and said slowly, as she opened it at the story of the hunchback, "Look at that picture, Fritz: that little sick child had 'wings' in her hump, lovely silver wings; and are not books like this true, Fritz? There are angels in the page, and the little girl flies up to her mother, and people would not write what was not true about angels and—and heaven."
The question was a little puzzling; but Fritz answered it without hesitation.
"The stories in this book are all fairy tales. Look at the cover and thou canst see that for thyself."