“But I still think of my old foster brothers and sisters. ‘I broke in. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. Wood, ironically; "but I used to think it required something more than mere words to prove that a person's character was abused. 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. "Something worse, I fear," Wood replied. “I don’t think she will,” she said. ’ Still no response. “I’ve tried to make words tell it.
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