She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. She sighed with relief. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. "Hey, you!" Ah Cum stopped and turned. She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death.
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