She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. “A nice time of anxiety you’ve given me, young lady,” he said, as he entered the room. The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. And then they disgorged. Then he turned to Anna. You. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. The doctor said you wrote. “He has said something of the sort. The doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself.
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