Mischief bubbled up in her. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding. . "I'm sure little Jack has but one friend beside myself, in the world, and that's more than I would have ventured to say for him yesterday. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. I just want him, and no one else will do. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends.
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