She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. I came to the Beck’s house. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. Well, I don’t think that’s fair.
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