Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. She felt her forehead repeatedly break out in a light sweat. I will neither stir hand nor foot for you more. But, holy smoke!—the Yale spirit in…. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home.
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