The lady’s-maid rattled her bones.
“Let it alone, sir,” she answered. “Let it alone, Master Hennessey.”
“Well, but what d’you mean by that?”
“What I say sir. I can’t speak different, nor mean other.”
“But can’t you explain, Fancy?”
“Oh, Master Hennessey, the lives that have been wrecked, the homes that have been broke up by explainings!”
Her eye seemed suddenly lit from within by some fever of sad, worldly knowledge.
“Well, but—” the Prophet began.
“I know it, Master Hennessey, and I can’t know other.”
She sighed, and her gaze became fixed like that of a typhoid patient in a dream.