Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from London Society, Vol. 60: A Monthly Magazine of Light and Amusing Literature for the Hours of Relaxation; July to December, 1891
Meanwhile to poor Mary there came but little change. She did not recover as the doctor had promised. She had nothing that could be called a recovery at all. She kept her bed because apparently she had no desire to get up. And Sometimes She would hold long conversations about baby clothes and the like with the nurse, rationally enough, as if her mind was able to occupy itself with ordinary duties. Sometimes even she would allow the baby to be brought to her, and cry over it. Poor little thing she would say, if that is to be its fate oh, it is not the little thing's fault. I might be to blame, but it couldn't be to blame. Oh, poor little thing. I'll not cry out if you kill me, poor baby. It will not be you, but dreadful, dreadful fate.
Oh, my lady, don't talk like that. The child will grow up to be your comfort and joy.
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