“Why not?”
With a choking voice she replied:
“She was taken—taken——”
“You mean she died?”
“Died; yes. Only fourteen—getting on so nicely, too; beginning to earn her own keep, like the one you’ve got. But there, you’ve always been the lucky one.”
“By God,” he said, “I think I have.”
It was an awkward remark to counter, so Blanche kept up her pathetic wail.
“It would be like the touch of my own child, just to see your daughter.”
“You shall,” said he, and walked to the door.
This movement was ahead of its cue, so she hastened to exclaim: